Amelia Bones: Auror
by FlashFiction
Summary: In a time when Death Eaters roam the country, looking for support and victims, one group of wizards will rise up against them. They are the Auror Office and this is the faithful recollection of the story of one particular unit, headed by Amelia Bones, Auror. Lots of incident reports, office romance, intense battles, one common enemy, even a shotgun. What could possibly go wrong?
1. Chapter 1: Overtime

**Chapter 1: Overtime**

The flame from the candle barely lit up the cubicle, casting only a small pool of light on to the desk on which it sat. Anything out of the candle's glow was bathed in darkness, colour fading into grey, then finally melting away into pure black shadow. The room was silent, except for the soft, steady sound of breathing and the scratching of a quill against parchment. Amelia Bones sat at the desk, finishing off a letter. Her eyes, the colour of stone, followed the movement of her hand as she transferred her graceful, sloping letters on to the page. Leaning back in her chair, she ran her fingers through her short, blonde hair and glanced at the clock. Though she could barely see the hands moving, she knew it was past midnight. Where does all the time go, Amelia thought as she turned back to her work. She wanted to leave, but incident reports didn't write themselves.

_House appeared fine from the outside _she wrote. _It was only upon entering that Aurors noticed significant damage. Hallway floor was covered in broken glass and plaster, which had clearly come from the wall and pictures hanging on the wall. In the first room, a bedroom, Aurors discovered two bodies, a man and a woman. Neither bodies showed obvious damage, so death is thought to have come from the Avada Kedavra curse. The bodies were later identified as Hamish and Emily Lancaster, Muggle owners of the property. The lounge area also sustained heavy damage, with wreckage covering most of the floor. The body of a young girl was found by the backdoor. It appeared as if she had been trying to escape, before her throat was cut (again, a wand is thought to have been used). Death, in this instance, is thought to be a result of blood loss. The girl was later identified as Roberta Lancaster, eight year-old daughter of the aforementioned house owners. There were no survivors found on the property. After extensive analysis, the Auror office is attributing these killings to the organization known as_.Amelia refreshed the ink on her quill. _The_ _Death Eaters._

Picking up the parchment, Amelia checked over the words that she had written; it didn't make for particularly happy reading. A Muggle family had been murdered by the Death Eaters, just some of the many victims of the barbaric movement. Amelia's Auror unit had been the ones who found them, going out the house after the alarm had been raised by operatives placed in the Muggle police force. It hadn't been pleasant in reality and experiencing it again in word form was no better. Amelia had found the little girl. A tiny creature, even for her age, she was curled up in a ball, her back against the door. She had died slowly, in pain, in a pool of her own blood. It was sickening and Amelia couldn't comprehend what kind of mindset you'd have to be in to do that. The people they were dealing with weren't just dangerous, they were insane. The kind of violence they were capable of was something Amelia had never expected when she applied to be an Auror. Then again, the rise of Lord Voldemort was something no one had seen coming. He had come from nowhere, one day an unknown, the next the most feared man in all of Britain. Now he waged war against those who didn't share his ideals. Thousands had died already at the hands of those who served him.

Amelia pushed her chair away from the desk, submerging herself in darkness. Feeling in her pocket, she found her cigarette packet and lighter. Pulling one out, she lit a cigarette, the tip glowing eerily in the blackness. Putting it to her lips, she inhaled deeply and then blew the smoke out. Amelia had started smoking not long after her first year with the Auror office. As not much more than a child, she had found it the only way to cope. Recently she had managed to cut back on the amount of toxins she breathed into her body, but quitting completely was something she hadn't yet found the motivation for. Besides, given the current situation, dark wizards were going kill her before lung cancer did.

"If Crouch catches you doing that in here, he'll have you on desk duty until you retire."

A man walked into the cubicle, leaning against the desk. Though colourless in the dusky shadow, his hair was golden-red and his eyes were blue and sparkly. He wore a smile that was teasing, even a little suggestive, one side curving up in a smirk. Fabian Prewett was Amelia's partner in the Auror office. They had started at around the same time, working their way up together until they were fully qualified and mostly respected.

"Crouch can't afford to put me on desk duty." Amelia said cooly. "And who's going to tell him? Because it won't be me, Fabian."

"And it won't be me, Bones." Fabian replied with a grin. "I'm just looking out for your best interests."

He looked down at the desk and began to flick through the documents that sat there.

"You still doing incident reports?" he asked.

"No." Amelia said. "I've stayed past my paid hours because I like the lively atmosphere."

"It's a party alright." Fabian nodded in sarcastic agreement. "I've just finished writing mine."

He pulled out a piece of parchment that had been crumpled into his pocket and flattened it out. Taking an end in each hand, he held it up for his partner to see. Amelia squinted and leaned forward.

"I can't even read that! Did you write it in the dark?" she exclaimed. "They seriously need to put penmanship in the Auror exam."

"It's not exactly artwork, I agree." Fabian said, scrutinizing it for himself. "But it's okay. I'll just leave it on my desk and Dolores can write it out tomorrow."

"You and Frank completely misuse that girl." Amelia sighed, though not without a little smile. "You're lucky she's so nice."

"She's our secretary!" Fabian said. "She's just doing what she feels she needs to do."

"Oh, and the fact that she's your brother's fiancee has nothing to do with it?" Amelia asked, more than a hint of cynicism in her voice.

"Well, Little Dolores does like to keep in with the family." Fabian admitted. "Poor thing's terrified our parents are not going to like her."

"They'll be pleasantly surprised, I should think." Amelia said, rolling over to desk and conjuring an ashtray. "After the trash you like to bring home."

"My parents haven't seen half of my dirty laundry." Fabian winked. "If a girl gets to meet them then she has been deemed fit."

"Or less trashy than usual?" Amelia suggested.

"Anyway," Fabian ignored her, "Gideon was always the sensible one. They'll be expecting a quiet, sensible, homely girl."

"In short, someone like Dolores?" Amelia said. "I always thought it was odd when they got engaged, but the more I think about it, the more it makes perfect sense."

"I still think it's a bit odd." Fabian muttered. "I mean, my brother and your best friend."

"Yeah, well," Amelia said, stubbing out her cigarette, "there are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, then are dreamt of in your philosophy."

"Thank you, William Shakespeare." Fabian said mockingly. "You've missed your vocation, Bones. Should've gone into acting."

"It didn't pay enough." Amelia replied, picking up her quill and continuing to write.

"Yes, but are you really getting paid enough now?" Fabian asked, pushing himself up to sit on the desk. "How many times this week have we been late in the office? And we're not even on night duty."

"That's the job." Amelia said bluntly, not taking her eyes off the page.

The scratching of the quill nib once again filled the space. The biting smell of cigarette smoke lingered in the air, the haze visible in the light. Fabian picked up an unused piece of parchment and began to fold it, his hands moving quickly. Soon he had created a delicate little swan. He placed it down and it sat serenely amongst the quills, files and inkwells.

"You writing up the Lancaster case?" he asked.

Amelia nodded, but said nothing. Fabian looked up at a ceiling he couldn't see.

"I don't know." he sighed. "I guess that every time something like this happens, I feel as though I've let everybody down. Like I've failed to do what I'm here for."

Amelia felt exactly the same way. What good was the Auror office, the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, any of it, if they couldn't save people. There were days when Amelia would question her entire existence, wondering if it was worth it. But then she remembered all the evil that was out there. Even if she couldn't stop it, someone had to try.

"We." Amelia stated softly. "We failed. We're a team, remember?"

Fabian smiled. It was a bitter smile, but more sincere than his signature grin.

"I'll see you tomorrow, Bones." he said quietly, before standing up and walking out of the cubicle.

Amelia listened to his footsteps as they grew fainter and fainter, until she could no longer hear them. Getting out of her chair, she felt her way to the coat stand where she had hung her satchel. Going back to the desk, she put her wand and a file thick with documents into the bag, then slung it over her shoulder. The last thing she did was blow out the candle, pulling the plug on visibility and cloaking everything in black. It reflected the world, she thought somberly, a world where it was getting harder and harder to see. But, she reminded herself as she walked to the lift, when the world could get no darker, that would be the time when the sun would rise.


	2. Chapter 2: Mornings

**Chapter 2: Mornings**

The flashing numbers on the alarm clock said it was six-thirty. Amelia groaned and pushed the covers of her bed down. As the duvet hit the floor, the chill that often came with mornings slammed into Amelia's body and she groaned again. She had arrived back at her flat at around three o'clock last night, barely managing to get the key in the lock and stumble inside before she fell asleep. Working on three hours sleep was going to be a challenge; Amelia had never been good in the mornings and she wasn't getting any younger, the creeping years making her crave rest almost as much as nicotine. With an unmeasurable amount of effort, she forced herself to sit up and get out of bed.

After a cold shower, she felt a little bit more awake. Cold showers really were a strange sensation, like being unexpectedly electrocuted and then buzzing with shock and anxiety for the rest of the day. She ruffled her hair with a towel and glanced in the mirror; she looked worse than she currently felt, with large, dark circles around her eyes. Amelia sighed. Perhaps she would recover over breakfast.

Breakfast proved to be a rather sad affair. At some point during the course of yesterday, the fridge had decided it was time to clock-off, leaving everything inside it to slowly heat up. Not that there was much inside; just a couple of apples, a half-full bottle of Firewhisky, some dubious looking pasta and a bottle of milk which was probably off anyway. The Firewhisky had been on the table as a breakfast candidate, until Amelia's better judgement had won out and she decided to purchase something on her way to work. Pulling on her coat and grabbing her bag, she left her apartment, taking the rusty elevator to the ground floor and joining the other footpath commuters on their way to work.

London in the morning was a beautiful thing. The air was crisp and sharp, but the movement of everything was slow and sleepy. The sun was rising, little streaks of cloud marring the watercolour sky. Amelia loved to be a part of it all, to feel like a small piece in a large picture; at work, she was the head of her unit, at home, she was a singular being, but on the streets she could be small, insignificant and still one of many.

On the corner of a street, there was a Muggle bakery that Amelia was rather fond of. She stopped in and bought a bagel and a large cup of coffee, black, no sugar. She ate as she walked. Of course, she could have taken the floo network, she could've apparated, she could've even taken the trains. But walking meant she could clear her head. During the day there was little time to sit down and plan everything out. Even with a secretary, Amelia often found herself wanting to scream and throw anything that was within reach. The daily journey to the Ministry gave Amelia time to work out her next moves. But walking also meant she could be late. Checking her watch, she swore and broke out into run, dodging men in business suits who were, inconveniently, going in the opposite direction.

Mornings were the times when briefings happened. The Auror Office was divided into different units, with around four or five Aurors in each. Every morning, new tasks or old follow-ups would be divided between the units. Every group would be given their strict set of instructions; and then the bargaining would begin. People attempting to trade stake-outs or filing for more exciting field work. Bargaining chips could be anything: galleons, drinks, favours. Amelia had once scored a semi-final Quidditch ticket and all it had cost her was a month working with the Magical Maintenance Department, an important but dull section of the Ministry. As the leader of her unit, Auror Unit B, all negotiations had to be checked by her first. If she was late, then her crew couldn't move. Well, that was what she liked to think. Gideon Prewett, the level headed brother, never tried to trade anyway. Frank Longbottom might wait, but only if Fabian didn't go right ahead, which he probably would. Despite her seniority, Fabian still treated Amelia as he had when they were just trainees. Her secretary and voice of reason, Dolores Umbridge, would attempt to step in, but Fabian never listened to her. He did whatever sprung to his childish mind, which generally always included saddling Amelia with the left over jobs that nobody else wanted. No, she had to be there on time, but it didn't look as if she was going to be.

The Atrium was mostly empty when Amelia finally arrived, a sign that a majority of people had already made their way to their offices and workspaces. Amelia swore again, getting a scorching look from a stout wizard walking past. Jumping into a lift, she jabbed the button and almost fell over as it lurched backwards. But it still wasn't fast enough!

"Come on!" Amelia muttered, continually pressing the button, "Come on!"

When the lift arrived at the right floor, she fell out of it running, slowing down to a dignified walk as she straightened her coat. Turning a corner, she came to a long corridor of cubicles, one on each side, the same cubicles she had spent her evening in last night. In her hurry, she crashed into a small, round faced witch and swore again.

"Anyone told you that you swear like a sailor?" the witch asked with a smile.

"God, sorry Alice," Amelia sighed, rubbing her face in her hands, "Am I late?"

"Just a bit," Alice Longbottom grinned, "they gave out the case files about ten minutes ago."

"Right," Amelia said, already fearing the worst.

"Don't worry," Alice tried to reassure her, "I reminded Frank this morning that you are technically his boss."

"Since when have technicalities been his concern?" Amelia said dryly, "Besides, it's Fabian that worries me. Last time I was late, he somehow got me stuck in a two hour long meeting about enhanced security for bicycles parked outside."

"You'd better go then," Alice said, leaving her colleague to get on with her work.

When Amelia arrived at her cubicle, everyone else was already there. Fabian, surprisingly, appeared to be working, writing in a leather bound notebook, his head down and focused. His brother Gideon was, also surprisingly, not working. The two brothers were very similar in appearance, both with golden-red hair and blue eyes. Gideon was taller and a little slimmer, with Fabian taking a more muscular build. Gideon also had a beard. But the main differences were in personality; Fabian was a joker, while Gideon took everything extremely seriously. However, at the moment, roles seemed to be reversed, with Gideon tossing a Quaffle to Frank Longbottom, who had situated himself in the cubicle over from hers. Gideon, however, stopped when Amelia walked in.

"You're late, Bones!" Fabian yelled, not even looking up from his scribbling.

Frank grinned.

"And you look like you slept on the floor!" he added.

"Well, a bright and sunny good morning to you too, Frank." Amelia said flatly.

She took off her coat and, from a fair distance, threw it on to the coat stand, garnering a small amount of applause from the rest of her unit. Then, as Fabian was currently occupying her seat, she leant against her desk.

"So, what have I missed?" she asked, looking around at the group.

"Nothing, as yet," Gideon said, "Dolores has hidden the case files, awaiting your arrival."

Amelia smiled. She could always count on Dolores. A more efficient secretary, you probably couldn't find. A few moments later, Dolores came around the corner, her heels clicking on the floor. She wore a pink skirt suit and had her brown hair curled. Amelia could never understand her friend's obsession with pink; it was a colour that had not endeared itself to her. Dolores came over and handed Amelia a cup.

"I thought you might like some tea," she said.

Amelia took it gratefully.

"Thanks, Jane." she said, using the witch's middle name as she usually did.

"Why don't I get tea?" Fabian whined, putting his notebook away and sitting up straight.

"I'm already re-writing your incident reports," Dolores said, sitting down at her desk, the one in the cubicle opposite Amelia's, "Don't push your luck."

Gideon looked slightly annoyed at this admission. He knew that his brother took Dolores' work for granted and often left her with things that he should've done himself. He also knew that Dolores only did it because she wanted to make his family like her, despite what she might say. But he didn't bring it up, because both he and Dolores thought it unprofessional to mention their engagement at work. Amelia, who knew all these things too, didn't really care at this early stage in the morning. She just wanted to get on with her work.

"Where are the case files?" she asked.

"There's only one today," Dolores said, opening a draw and taking out a brown paper file.

"_It was in her desk the entire time!_" Fabian said in disbelief, watching as Amelia received the document. "I can't believe I missed that!"

Amelia smirked.

"Remind me again how you manage to find dark wizards, when you can't find some paper in a desk?" she said.

Fabian shot her the darkest look he had and said grumpily, "just read the file, Bones."


	3. Chapter 3:Banker, Businessman, Butterfly

**Author's Note: **Sorry it's taken so long to update. I've been extremely slack on my stories.

**Chapter 3: The Banker, the Businessman and the Butterfly**

Amelia pushed open the cover of the document and began to scan the words inside.

"Middle aged man," she read, "found dead two blocks away from Diagon Alley. Identified as Fredrick Bartholomew, owner of "Bartholomew's Buckets and Bristles; The Best Magical Cleaning Supplies Around""

"If I was in that business, I might kill myself too!" Frank said.

Gideon swung his chair around.

"He was murdered," the wizard muttered, "I remember hearing about it from Mitchell Williams."

"Mitchie Williams is a rookie!" Fabian exclaimed, "Why are we getting saddled with newbie work?"

Amelia ignored him, though a similar thought had crossed her mind. Deaths that were given to younger, newer members of the Auror office were usually deemed to be less important, which sounded terrible, but the current climate meant that a mugging gone wrong was less of a priority than something that might connect back to Lord Voldemort. Amelia flicked through some of the pages.

"There's more," she said, her brow furrowing, "two more. A Gringotts' banker named Kieran Swann and a girl who has not been identified. Swann was found about eight blocks away from Bartholomew and the girl was on the other side of the river. There are photographs."

There were quite a number of photographs, of different things from different angles, but Amelia found three that showed most of the victims. She placed them out in a line on her desk, so everyone could see. The first photo was of Bartholomew. He was a large man, in width but not in height. His hair was brown and close shaved, receding back from his forehead. His face was pear shaped, large, flabby cheeks going into a rather pointed head. He lay on his stomach, sprawled on the concrete, his arm sticking out. Small, round glasses were on his nose, lopsided, giving him a rather comical appearance. His wand had snapped and was in pieces beside him. The second photo was of Swann. He was well built, but it appeared to be muscle as opposed to fat. He had dark skin and light brown eyes, that stared out, his face stuck in a serious expression. He too lay on his stomach, his briefcase underneath him, his watch shattered from his attack. The third picture was of the girl. She was tiny and extremely pale, her face looking almost skeletal. Her hair was black and curly, the ringlets swept up into a rather haphazard ponytail. She wore a dress that was much too big and heeled shoes that were worn on the soles. She was on her side, her head resting against her arm in mocking serenity. Her arm was outstretched and on her wrist was a tattoo; the black outline of a butterfly. Three victims, all different ages and appearances.

"So what's the connection?" Frank asked, voicing what everybody else was thinking.

"Nothing that obvious," Amelia said slowly as she analyzed the reports, "No signs of injury on any of them."

"Killing curse," Fabian said with a sigh, "Not that surprising."

"Hmm," Amelia agreed.

She turned a page lazily and then quickly flipped it back, straightening up a little.

"Hang on," she said, "All these case were investigated by Mitchell Williams."

The same signature had signed of at the bottom of the pages and the handwritten notes were all written in the same messy scrawl.

"Is that the only running theme?" Fabian asked, rolling his chair over and grabbing the paper from Amelia's hands.

"I'm guessing not," Amelia replied, giving him a disapproving look, "Mitchie must have connected them all somehow. Dolores, could you go and see if we can bring him over here?"

Dolores nodded and went off down the isle of cubicles, her heels clicking as she did so. Amelia turned back to her desk and spread out the other photos. There was a close up of the butterfly tattoo, which she picked up to get a better look. There were three dots around it, set out like a triangle. They weren't immediately obvious, but could be seen quite clearly once noticed. They looked almost like the prick from a needle. Amelia was about to point them out when Gideon said, "there's something written on the back of that photograph."

Amelia flipped it over. Mitchell Williams' handwriting had left a few words in the top corner; it was a name.

"Darius Finch," Amelia read out loud, "Why does that name sound so familiar?"

"Oh everybody's heard of Ol' Darius," Frank said, "He's a small time criminal, pops up in records everywhere."

"Really?" Amelia raised an eyebrow, "And now he's popping up in our case. Since you know so much about him, Frank, maybe you would kind enough to head down to the record room and bring back his. I want to know why Mitchie was interested."

"Couldn't you just ask him when he gets here?" Frank moaned.

Amelia narrowed her eyes.

"Your wife is just down the hall, Longbottom. Do you want me to call her?"

Slightly begrudgingly, Frank stood up and went off to fetch the records. He showed reluctance, but Amelia knew he was just winding her up. Despite surface appearances, her team were all extremely dedicated.

A few minutes after he had left, Dolores returned, slightly out of breath. She had a worried look on her face.

"Mitchell Williams is in hospital!" she puffed, "The Spell Damage ward at St Mungo's. He was admitted yesterday."

There was a collective gasp and some angry muttering from all the Aurors in the cubicle. Mitchie Williams was a well known and well liked wizard with a promising career in magical law enforcement; he had many friends and people who sang his praises, including Amelia who had done some training work with him when he first joined.

"What exactly happened?" Gideon asked, his voice grave.

Dolores sat down and all seats were turned to face her.

"They found him dumped in an alley somewhere, after he'd failed to report in," she said, "He was cursed. According to Vera, the receptionist for Mr Crouch, he's lucky to be alive."

There was a silence as this news sunk in. If Mitchie's attack was linked to his involvement in any of the three cases, then things were much more serious than first thought. Frank came back and he picked up on the mood straight away.

"What's wrong?" he asked quickly.

"Mitchie Williams has been cursed," Fabian said bitterly, "It seems he got into something dangerous."

"Well that figures," Frank said, sitting down, "if he was involved with Darius Finch. It seems our small time criminal is not so small time after all. Recently he's branched out into extortion, blackmail, prostitution, drugs. You name it and Finch has tried it."

Drugs. Amelia's mind was brought back to the marks on the mystery girl's wrist. Perhaps that was why Finch's name had been written on the back. If he was supplying her with drugs, then that could've been part of the reason for her death. Perhaps Frank saw the movement of her eyes because he wasn't finished there.

"He's connected to our girl alright," Frank continued, "The women that he, ah, _sells_, get branded when they start to work for him, stops them moving off to another guy. Guess what Darius uses as his symbol?"

"Black butterfly," Fabian said, moving the photo closer to him, "So she's a prostitute."

"He operates out of Knockturn Alley," Frank said, "which we all know isn't the safest of places, especially at the moment."

Amelia looked at all the photographs and papers again, trying to make sense of it all. _Mitchie_, she thought, _what have you gotten yourself into? _It was time to make an action plan.

"We'll start with the girl," Amelia said, "It's going to be a whole lot easier if we can get a positive I.D. We're all going down; there's no way I'm taking chances if I don't have to."

"Do you think it's Death Eater related?" Fabian whispered to her, as everyone was standing up and preparing to leave.

Amelia slipped on her coat and shrugged.

"I'm not sure, but I'd rather be prepared for everything, than caught unawares when the worst happens."


	4. Chapter 4: Green Eyes

**Chapter 4: Green Eyes**

The four Aurors entered Knockturn Alley through Diagon Alley, which they got to through The Leaky Cauldron. The bar was empty when they entered, the only person apart from themselves being Tom, the landlord and barman, who looked up nervously when they entered. He nodded quickly in recognition, before go back to cleaning the glasses. Diagon Alley was a similar reflection of the present situation; shops had been abandoned, doors were locked or boarded up and the streets were covered with rubbish and debris, remnants of fights that had taken place. Amelia put her hands into her pockets and shivered. She remembered how it had been before all of the hysteria started. How the sun always seemed to be shining, the vendors walking about selling their wares, interesting smells and sounds drifting out from shop doors, people crowding around store front windows to catch a glimpse of the latest and greatest. Amelia sighed. It was the people she missed the most. At one point in her life, she couldn't take two steps down this street without someone calling her name and greeting her with a smile. But now no one walked the street and those that did were not about to smile at Amelia. She was a dangerous person to be around, they all were; Fabian, Gideon and Frank. Staying with the Auror Office at the outbreak of the war had cost them a lot, including putting added strain on relationships with family members; being loved ones made them instant targets for Death Eater attacks.

The group came to the turn off that led to Knockturn Alley and Amelia turned to address them.

"Let's not get into any unnecessary confrontations. Just do what we came here to do. Keep your head down and your eyes open," she warned, "We don't want Finch, not yet. Just see if you can locate one of his girls. Frank and Gideon, you take the way past Borgin and Burkes. Fabian, you're with me."

"Where are we going?" Fabian asked, as they paired off and went their separate ways.

"Past the pub," Amelia replied.

"No social calls!" she added, catching the gleam in Fabian's eye.

This particular area of town seemed to be thriving. All the dirty windows were lit up with the dusky light of candles, people, wearing predominantly black, went about freely and the sound of laughter and chatter could occasionally be heard. But there was still a tension that hung in the air, as if at any minute the hold would break and everything would come crashing down. Though people walked about, they were quick to get in doors. Amelia felt her wand in her pocket, ready at any moment to whip it out. Soon they came to a stretch of shops where there was no one around. It was darker here and extremely eerie.

"So," Fabian said casually, trying to lighten the mood, "with Crouch's promotion to Head of Law Enforcement, I hear they're still on the look out for someone to take over the Auror Office."

"Oh?" Amelia said nonchalantly.

"I also hear," Fabian said, a little more pointedly, "that one of us is perhaps in the running for said position. Who could that be, Amelia Bones? I know it's not me."

"Who have you been talking to?" Amelia inquired, a small smile on her lips.

"Yaxley," Fabian replied promptly, as if he didn't mind admitting to the gossiping, "And he didn't sound too happy about it."

"He wouldn't," Amelia grinned, "He's up for the job as well."

Fabian turned to look at her, a triumphant grin on his face.

"Oh, so it's true then? I am possibly looking at the new head of the Auror Office?"

Amelia shrugged.

"It's been mentioned in passing. I'm not the only one who's being considered. Like I said, there's Yaxley. Also Rufus Scrimgeour is a top contender."

"Bah!" Fabian scoffed, waving a hand to dismiss the suggestion, "You've got no competition! The only question is will you take it if they offer it to you?"

"Seriously?" Amelia said teasingly, looking up at him, "With all the fun we have here?"

"I am a pretty big drawcard," Fabian agreed.

They turned a corner and walked into a more populated area. 'The Hangman's Noose' was alive with customers, the smell of mead drifting onto the street, the sound of loud, raucous singing coming from inside. A few people milled around outside and everyone seemed to be in relatively high spirits.

"Ah, alcohol," Fabian said, "there's nothing like it to bring people together."

But Amelia wasn't listening. She had caught sight of a young woman. The woman was shorter than Amelia was, with light brown hair and a heavy fringe. Her face was painted with a foundation that was much too pale for her and her lips were coloured a deep, dark red. On her wrist was the black outline of a butterfly.

"Fabian," Amelia whispered, turning her face away from the woman, "her wrist."

Fabian flicked his eyes upwards, only looking at the girl for a second. Then he looked back at Amelia. She gave a nod and both of them turned towards the woman. She must of sensed something, because her head jerked around, like that of an animal caught in headlights. And then she ran for it. Amelia and Fabian started after her, skidding around the corner to follow her. The woman pushed over a barrel of mead that was waiting to be taken in to the pub. Amelia jumped it, her foot just dragging across the wood. Fabian wasn't quite quick enough, the barrel breaking and splashing his legs with its contents. As he stumbled a little, Amelia kept running. The young woman was fast, faster than she looked and Amelia found herself falling behind. She would have lost her completely, except at that moment, Gideon Prewett walked around the corner, stopping the woman in her tracks. Frank followed quickly behind. Seeing that Amelia had been chasing her, Gideon grabbed her wrist to stop her getting any further. At that, the girl started to scream.

"Oh quiet down," Amelia said cooly, as Fabian ran up panting, "someone will think you're being murdered."

The girl looked at Amelia, her dark green eyes filled with mistrust. She pulled away from Gideon and straightened her shawl indignantly.

"Well for all I know I could be," she said.

"Why did you run?" Fabian asked.

"Well, these are dangerous times, aren't they?" the woman replied, "What am I supposed to do, with a pair of lunatics chasing me? Why'd you do that anyway?"

"We want to speak with you," Amelia cut in, "My name is Amelia Bones. I'm with the Auror Office."

The woman froze, her eyes darting around.

"I don't want to speak with you," the woman said quickly, "I don't know anything."

"You don't know what I'm asking yet," Amelia said quietly.

"I don't know anything about anything," the woman snapped, "I've got nothing to say."

She was terrified, Amelia could see it easily; the way she kept looking around as if someone would jump out of the shadows. Her hands were shaking as they played absentmindedly with the tassels on her shawl.

"I have to go now," she whispered, her voice pained.

She slipped off through a gap in the wall, her green eyes giving Amelia one last look. Fabian went to go after her, but Amelia held a hand out, stopping him from following.

"Let her go," she said, "We'll just have to head back to The Leaky Cauldron."


	5. Chapter 5: Knockturn Alley Sisters

**Chapter 5: Knockturn Alley Sisters**

They had been waiting in The Leaky Cauldron for over half an hour. It was still empty, the fire making more noise than the patrons. Gideon sat at a table, reading the paper, his blue eyes flicking seriously over the articles. Fabian had, predictably, gotten bored within the first five minutes and was now having a competition with Frank, in which players had to try and throw a Knut into a goblet from a great distance. Amelia was sitting quietly, staring blankly at the wall, swirling the whiskey in her glass. She took a sip and then stared at it for a second, watching the liquid go around in a whirlpool. Then she drained the entire glass and slammed it onto the table. Taking out her cigarettes, she turned to look at Tom, who still stood behind the bar.

"Mind if I smoke?" she asked.

"Do you whatever the hell you like," Tom sighed, "It's not like it really matters anymore."

Amelia lit one and stuck it between her lips, resuming her stare at the wall.

"Bones," Fabian yelled, aiming for and missing the goblet, "are you sure that girl is actually coming?"

Amelia leaned back in her chair and exhaled the smoke. It danced before her in a cloud of grey, before disappearing into the air.

"Of course she's coming," she replied, "we just have to be patient."

They had to be patient for a lot longer. Amelia had finished her cigarette and Gideon was done with the paper when the door that led out to the Diagon Alley entrance was pushed open; it was the young woman from outside the Hangman's Noose. She looked scared, but relieved to find that the Aurors were waiting. Amelia smiled, more to herself than to the girl. She had always been able to read faces and the woman's face had told her that she had something to say. But she didn't know quite who to say it to. The woman ran her hands through her thick, brown fringe and sat down opposite Amelia.

"I wasn't sure you'd still be here," she said.

Amelia said nothing, but offered her the packet of cigarettes. The woman shook her head.

"No thanks, I don't."

Amelia nodded her head forward and put them back in her pocket. Fabian and Frank had stopped playing when the door opened and they came over and sat beside Gideon, who had taken out a notebook. The women looked at the notebook, her eyes wide. Amelia caught the look and signaled to Gideon to put it away. The woman relaxed.

"What's your name?" Amelia asked.

"Rowan," the women said after some thought.

"Last name?"

"We don't use last names."

Amelia sighed and looked at her.

"I'm wanting information, not trying to buy you."

Rowan twitched and looked down at the floor, abashed.

"Rowan Griffith," she said, "Are you here about Ches?"

Raising an eyebrow, Amelia questioned, "Ches?"

Rowan nodded and pulled her chair closer to the table.

"Francesca Dyer. She's my roommate. We, we work together. Only, she's missing. I haven't see her in about a month."

"Is it usual for her to leave for long periods of time?" Frank asked.

"Sometimes she would go away with a client," Rowan said, "but she always sent an owl if she wasn't going to be home."

Amelia reached into the front of her jacket and took out the photograph of the murdered girl. She placed it on the table and pushed it towards Rowan.

"Is this Francesca?" she asked quietly.

Rowan glanced at the photo and she gasped. Her breathing became heavy and she nodded slowly.

"Yeah, that's her," she said, her voice hoarse, "Oh my God."

"We don't know much about the circumstances of her death," Gideon said, "Can you tell us when you last saw her?"

"Take your time," Amelia added kindly, "Tom, could Miss Griffith please have a glass of water?"

The landlord brought Rowan a drink and she smiled at him. Amelia guessed that there were few people willing to get her a drink for free.

"I last saw Ches at work," the girl stuttered, "it would've been, maybe, three weeks ago. She had to go to a meeting with someone."

"Did she mention who?" Gideon said.

The girl shook her head.

"Nah. But I reckon she was meeting the Boss. The Boss was paying lots of attention to her recently. I told her to be careful."

"The Boss?" Amelia said, "Do you mean Darius Finch?"

Rowan tensed and grabbed the side of her seat, as if to stand up.

"Fine, fine," Amelia placated her quickly, "you don't have to confirm that. So your _boss _was paying extra attention to Francesca and you told her to be careful. Why did you do that? Is he someone you need to be careful around?"

"Well he's not the kind of guy who asks a girl out for her thoughts and opinions," Rowan answered, "he's gotten violent in the past."

"What was Francesca doing with him?" Amelia asked.

"He used to take her to parties," Rowan said, fidgeting with her shawl, "with his friends. I told her not to go, but, well, a party was a party."

"You didn't like his friends?"

"They scared me. The kind of people who aren't afraid to walk around at night, if you know what I mean."

Amelia had a pretty good idea what she was talking about; criminals or worse. She had another photograph in her pocket and she placed it in front of the other witch. It was the close up of Francesca's wrist.

"If you look closely at this photograph you can see some needle marks," Amelia said, pointing out the dots, "Did Francesca use drugs?"

Rowan narrowed her eyes.

"No," she cried, sounding affronted, "No, not Ches. Some of the other girls tried it. Not me and not Ches."

"Is it possible she had it at the parties you mentioned?" Fabian asked, "Maybe she was forced into it?"

"Never," Rowan insisted, "Francesca would have told me if something like that was going on! We were like sisters."

She looked at the table, as if the unbelievability of the whole situation had just dawned on her.

"We were like sisters," she repeated sadly.

Tears started to fall down her cheeks, black tracks of mascara staining her white face. She sniffed and rubbed her eye with her fist. Gideon, frowning, pulled his wand from his jacket and conjured a handkerchief, the air twisting itself into white silk. Silently, he handed it to her. Rowan gave a small smile and dabbed at her face with it. When she had calmed down, Amelia went on with the questioning.

"Do the names Fredrick Bartholomew and Kieran Swann mean anything to you?" she asked, "They could have been clients or maybe Francesca knew them in a friendly capacity."

"They don't sound familiar," Rowan said.

Amelia took out the pictures of the dead men and showed them to her, but Rowan shook her head.

"Sorry, I've never seen them."

Amelia nodded. She stood up and cleared the photos.

"Thank you for your time, Miss Griffiths," she said, "If you think of anything else, don't hesitate to come to me. And don't worry, your name will not be brought up."

Amelia picked up the tab, paying for her drink and giving Tom a tip for putting up with their interview. So they now knew who the dead girl was. All they had to do was work out where exactly she fitted in.


	6. Chapter 6: A Good Man

**Chapter 6: A Good Man **

The next place they went to was Gringotts Bank. Carts of jewels were being hauled to and fro, goblins behind desks scribbled ferociously at account books and the floors gleamed, as if they had just been mopped. The hallowed halls of treasure protection were running in an extremely business like manner, so much so that Amelia paused her thoughts to compliment the goblin way of doing things; if they were effected at all by the current war, then they weren't letting it show.

Amelia led the way up to one of the desks and asked to speak to the person in charge. She was introduced to a goblin named Gornuk, who was taller than most of his kind and wore a well pressed business suit. He took them through to a side room.

"Now, Ms Bones," Gornuk said, sitting in a chair, staring up at the wizards, "what exactly can I help you with?"

"We are here to make enquires into the death of Kieran Swann," Amelia replied, choosing to stay standing.

"But I have already discussed this with your people," Gornuk said, flexing his fingers, "I talked to a young wizard only a few weeks ago."

"Mitchell Williams?" Amelia asked.

The goblin shrugged.

"He had a name. I don't remember what it was."

"My unit has taken over the investigation, so we're going thorough it again," Amelia explained, "Sorry for any inconvenience, but your time is appreciated."

So Gornuk recounted all he knew about Kieran Swann and the time leading up to his death. Which wasn't much; he couldn't say exactly when he had seen him last, only that he had seen him at some point and Swann had seemed fine then. He didn't know the names Bartholomew or Dyer and their faces meant nothing either. If they weren't clients, then he wasn't terribly interested.

"You should speak to Matt Demming," Gornuk suggested, "He was Mr Swann's partner in the human relations office. His testimony will undoubtedly be more profitable than mine."

The same goblin that had taken them to Gornuk took them to Matt Demming. His office was a small, square room with no interesting features to speak of.

"If only he was a Curse Breaker!" Fabian whispered as they entered, "I bet their offices are awesome!"

Matt Demming was a tall man, with pale skin, short black hair and a beard that was neatly groomed. He wore a business suit, similar to ones that both Gornuk and Swann wore, giving him the respectable appearance that seemed to be standard in the bank. He rose as they entered.

"Hi," he said, with a bright smile, "Who do I have the pleasure of addressing?"

He held out his hand to Amelia, who gave a firm shake and then let it go. His smile looked genuine enough, but there was something in his eyes, something that made her not trust him. He seemed like the kind of person who could charm you out of your savings.

"My name is Amelia Bones, Mr Demming, I'm an Auror" the witch said, "Perhaps you'd like to sit down. We've got some questions to ask you."

"Not in trouble I hope?" the banker said heartily, taking a seat.

"No, Mr Demming," Amelia said cooly, "We want to know about Kieran Swann and the word around the bank is you're the man to talk to."

"Kieran?" Matt said, sounding surprised, "He was my colleague and a close friend. I thought his case was closed? At least, I thought I wasn't needed for anything."

"We are re-interviewing all concerned," Amelia said.

"That's not a problem is it?" Fabian asked, a menacing tone in his voice.

"Of course not," Matt said with a weak smile, "It's just been a bit painful is all."

Amelia nodded her understanding and let the man get ready before she began the interview.

"When was the last time you saw Mr Swann alive?" she asked.

Matt thought for a bit then said, "it was the day before they discovered his body. When was that?"

"About a month ago."

"We left work together," Matt nodded, "and I asked if he wanted to grab a drink, but he said he couldn't, so we went our separate ways. The next morning, I hear something's happened to him and this young Auror, Williams, comes to talk to me." "And there was nothing out of the ordinary about him?" Amelia said, "He wasn't stressed from something at work or maybe from his home life? Was he meeting with people who you hadn't noticed him with before?"

"Kieran was always on the top of his work," Matt said, shaking his head, "I used to tease him about it, all the people in HR did. He didn't have much of a home life; he was unmarried, as far I as I know he didn't even keep an owl."

As the interview progressed, Amelia became more and more confused. Kieran Swann was apparently loved and adored by all who met him, by all accounts a good guy. There was nothing that pointed to anyone wanting to hurt him. She took out the photographs of the other victims, as she had done for Rowan, hoping Matt could tell her what the connection was.

"Do you recognize either of these people?" she asked.

Matt glanced at the photos.

"No, sorry," he replied, "They might have accounts here, but I've never had to deal with them."

"You never heard Mr Swann mention a Fredrick Bartholomew or a Francesca Dyer?"

A pause.

"Those names don't ring a bell."

Amelia picked up the photos and slipped them back into her jacket. She thanked Mr Demming for his time and ushered to the rest of her team to leave. Just as she herself was turning to go, Matt said, "you will find them, won't you? The people who did this to Kieran?"

"I'll do my best, Mr Demming," Amelia said solemnly, "That I can promise you."

And she walked out of Gringotts once again wondering how a man with good friends, a respectable job and no apparent enemies could end up dead, sprawled out on a London street. Perhaps that was just what the world was coming to.


	7. Chapter 7: One of Those Faces

**Chapter 7: One of Those Faces**

"And so we come to the last person on our list," Amelia said when they stepped outside, "Fredrick Bartholomew."

She had been dreading doing this interview. Mr Bartholomew was the only victim who, to their knowledge, had a surviving family; a wife and two daughters. They would have to be interviewed, their wounds cut open again when they had barely been given any time to heal. Amelia herself knew what that felt like, her parents being one of the early casualties of the wizarding war. She still remembered the moment when her brother told her what had happened, the moment when the fact that her parents were dead finally hit home and the weight of it came crashing down on her like a wave breaking against the rocks. It had consumed her for weeks, but with help she had managed to stand up again. But the pain was still there. She knew what the family would be feeling and she knew that her words of sympathy would do nothing to help them.

"How about we split up?" Fabian suggested quickly, "Frank, you and Gideon go and talk to his widow. Amelia and I will check out his work place. Does that work for you?"

Amelia took a moment to gather herself together and then nodded.

"Yeah," she said quickly, "That sounds fine."

They split up again, with Gideon and Frank disapparating to an address elsewhere in the city and Amelia and Fabian continuing down Diagon Alley once more. Amelia stuffed her hands in her pockets and looked at the ground. She kicked a rock with the toe of her shoe and it skidded across the street, clattering against the cobblestones. Fabian frowned.

"Buck up," he said kindly, giving her a gentle punch on the arm, "We'll solve this thing, don't worry."

Amelia nodded.

"Thanks," she said quietly, "for back there."

"Don't mention it," Fabian shrugged, "What are partners for anyway?"

They soon came to Bartholomew's Buckets and Bristles. It was painted a pumpkin orange colour, with the letters of the sign coloured a dark brown. It was one of the few shops in the street that was open, but like all the others, it was locked and protected. Through the window, Amelia could see a girl at the counter. She had straight, black hair that was tied back in a long ponytail. There was a quill in her hand and she appeared to be drawing, quite oblivious to the world. Amelia rapped on the window pane with her knuckles. The girl's head shot up and, after a few seconds, she took her wand from beneath the counter and pointed it at the door. There was the sound of locks clicking and then it swung open. Amelia and Fabian stepped in and the girl locked the door behind them.

"Sorry if I kept you waiting," she said apologetically, "What can I help you with?"

"I am Amelia Bones and this is Fabian Prewett," Amelia said, "We're with the Auror office and we wish to ask some questions about your employer."

The girl smiled a little sadly.

"Employer and uncle," she said, "I'm Fredrick's niece."

"Sorry for your loss," Fabian said, "Miss?"

"Jones," the girl replied, "Hestia Jones. Thanks."

"Is there anyone else who works here?" Amelia said.

"There's a couple of guys, Hank and Larry, who do some days of the week."

"And how long have you worked here?" Amelia asked.

"Since I finished school," Hestia said, "About five months now. My uncle was giving me work until my art kicked off."

"And during that time you didn't notice anything strange?" Amelia said, "Your uncle didn't get himself into any trouble business wise? He didn't seem worried or anxious?"

"Fred always had a good head for business," Hestia said, her voice not indicating any ill will for the suggestion, "He did seem a bit on edge, but who isn't these days? I mean, he's got Loren and the girls to look after. Loren, that's his wife, is a Muggle and I'm sure I don't have to tell you how some people feel about that."

"No," Amelia said a little bitterly, "no, you don't."

Once again, the photographs were placed out on the table.

"Do you recognize these people?" Amelia questioned.

Hestia tilted her head to the side and spent a long time staring at them. Her brow furrowed in concentration.

"The man I don't know," Hestia said after awhile, pushing the photo back towards Amelia, "But the girl. The girl I feel like I've seen around before."

A flicker of hope flashed before Amelia's eyes. But the witch shook her head.

"Sorry, I can't remember where. Maybe she just has one of those faces."

"Yeah, maybe she does," Amelia sighed, "Thank you for your time, Miss Jones."

They left the shop and returned back to the Ministry of Magic building. Slowly, they made their way up to their floor and returned to Amelia and Dolores' cubicles. The latter was fixing up a board with pictures and maps relating their current case. She turned and gave them a smile when they sat down.

"Not successful then?" Dolores asked sympathetically.

"Not exactly, no," Amelia said, massaging her temples, "We've just got more questions to answer. God, Jane, why does it have to be so complicated?"

"Because you'd get bored if it wasn't," Dolores replied promptly, turning back around to pin a piece of parchment to her display.

Fabian began to scribble in his black leather note book. Amelia tried to look in it, but he pulled it away.

"What are you writing?" she asked.

"Epic war poetry," Fabian said flatly.

"Ha ha," Amelia said, equally flatly, "What are you really writing?"

But he didn't reply.

The other members of her team came back to the office, grabbing chairs from their own spaces and positioning them around Amelia's desk. Fabian then recounted their dealings at the cleaning supply store, with Amelia adding in any details he missed. When they had finished, Frank began their tale. Or lack-there-of.

"It was a similar story for us," he said, "The wife and daughters had no idea who the other two victims were. When the killing happened they were out of town; the wife was away for work and the daughters have been staying with relatives away from the city. They're terrified of course."

"Who isn't these days?" Amelia said blankly, echoing Hestia's statement earlier in the day.

Having spent most of her working life around the dark arts, sometimes Amelia forgot that everyday people weren't prepared for this. She was scared, but every time she stepped out her door she was subconsciously using her training, assessing each turn, ready to step into defense mode. But not everyone knew what to do. Being taught defensive magic wouldn't help you if you didn't have the presence of mind to use it. Hearing the stories of loss and terror reminded Amelia that it wasn't just an average working day; there was a war going on.

"There's got to be something else!" she said out loud.

"What?" Frank said, "We've gone through everyone on the list."

Amelia was on the point of banging her head on the desk, when she sat up straight.

"Not everyone," she said, "There's still Mitchie. He connected these murders in the first place. There must of been something he knew, something he didn't put in the reports."

"But Mitchie is in hospital!" Fabian sighed, "He's recovering from a curse! If he could tell us anything, then he would've."

"Which is why we have to go back to where he left off," Amelia said, standing up, "Come on, boys. We're going to investigate a crime scene."


	8. Chapter 8: Chow Mein, Anyone?

**Chapter 8: Chow Mein, Anyone?**

The alley that Mitchie Williams had been left in was not the kind of place that anybody would want to be left in to die. The walls were a dull grey, the bricks worn from time. A few doors were placed into it, though they didn't seem to anywhere important. Graffiti covered up the walls in some areas, faded reds and blacks spelling quickly scrawled names that could not be deciphered. A metal pipe ran along the top and it dripped water into a gradually forming puddle on the ground. Even in the day time, there were shadows in the corners.

Amelia stepped into the alleyway first. Apart from its sinister aesthetic, there didn't seem to be much wrong with it. Frank and Fabian went right to end and began to poke about. Gideon came up next to Amelia.

"Did anybody find anything when they searched this place?" she inquired.

"No," Gideon answered, "And they went over it with a fine tooth comb, even with the limited time frame. Crouch made sure of that."

"Crouch?" Amelia said in surprise, "Surely he's got more to deal with than the inner details of a rookie Auror operation?"

"Probably," Gideon shrugged, "But until they fill the position, he's still the acting head of the office. With everything on his plate, they'll need to get it filled soon."

"Yes," Amelia said distractedly, "I dare say they do."

The heels of her shoes clicked against the concrete as she went further down the passage. There were some bins placed along the side and Amelia wondered if anyone had thought to look through them.

"Frank," she called, "would you mind searching these bins for clues?"

"Shouldn't somebody have done that already?" Frank protested, "Besides, I always do this team's dirty work."

"Point taken," Amelia said, "Fabian."

"Oh no, Bones, there's no way I'm doing any rubbish diving, thank you very much," Fabian replied.

He turned away from the wall to face his partner, ready to argue his case. As he did so, he leant against one of the bricks and it came lose, turning sideways and almost falling out.

"And now you've ruined the wall," Amelia said mockingly, "Try not to break the crime scene, Fabian, dear."

Scowling, Fabian bent over slightly and began to maneuver the brick back into place. He was about to pull out his wand, when he stopped and looked closer.

"There's something in here," he said.

Amelia, Frank and Gideon went over to him, as he pulled the brick out completely and stuck his hand into the gap, bits of dust and crumbling mortar falling out. He pulled out a folded piece of card and dusted it off. From its cleanish state, it hadn't been in there terribly long.

"It's the menu for a Chinese restaurant," Fabian said, sounding confused.

"So it's not important?" Gideon said with a sigh.

"I don't know," Frank said, "they're doing a killer deal on chicken chow mein!"

Amelia took it from Fabian's hand.

"This restaurant is just down the street," she said.

Unfolding the menu, she looked at it carefully. Somebody had torn holes in the middle of the page. They were arranged like a triangle. Amelia frowned; she had seen this before, on Francesca Dyer's wrist. At first the needle marks had seemed random, just the evidence of drug use. But Francesca didn't use drugs, her best friend swore to it. So why were the marks there? They had to be significant, Amelia had suspected as much, but now this piece of paper seemed to confirm it.

"This is the pattern that was marked on Francesca Dyer's wrist," she said, handing the paper back to her colleague, "I thought it was random, but I'm not so sure now."

She walked back up the alley, a theory forming in her head.

"What if Mitchie wasn't dumped here?" she said, "What if he was running away? Somehow, he finds out how the deaths are connected and what they're about. He's in the middle of investigating, when they (whoever they are) decide he needs to be silenced. They chase him to this street. As he's running, Mitchie grabs one of the menus from the outside box of the shop and tears this symbol into it. He turns into the alley and finds a loose brick, where he hides the menu, either to retrieve it later or hoping that someone will find it and connect it to him. Then he gets cornered and cursed."

"Why didn't he just disapparate?" Gideon asked.

"Maybe they'd already taken his wand," Amelia suggested, "It could have been his last option."

"I don't know," Frank said again, "That's an awful lot of maybes and what ifs."

"There are a few holes," Amelia agreed, "but it's a theory and, quite honestly, what else have we got?"

They went back to the office and once again sat down at Amelia's desk, staring at the ripped menu as if it might provide some divine inspiration. Dolores brought them all coffee and listened as they explained about the discovery of the card and the symbol. She nodded, her nose crinkled as she thought hard.

"Well, what about the others?" she said.

"What?" Amelia asked.

"If Francesca had the symbol on her hand and the symbol is what connects them, according to the message on the menu," Dolores said, "then doesn't it make sense that the other victims would have the triangle on them as well?"

"Jane, you are a genius!" Amelia exclaimed.

"Well, I'm more than just neat handwriting," she smiled, "The photos are in that envelope, pinned to the board."

She left the Aurors to sort through the many pictures, in search of triangles.

"I'm beginning to see why you keep her around," Fabian said to his brother.

"Is that your blessing then?" Gideon teased, giving a rare grin.

"Gideon," Fabian replied, "if this solves the case, then I will personally pay for your honeymoon!"

Amelia smiled, but couldn't stop herself from yawning. Fabian noticed and pulled her pile of photographs away from her.

"Go home, Bones," he said, "you're exhausted."

"I'm fine," Amelia said testily.

"No, you're not."

He caught her eyes and stared into them, bright blue meeting stone grey.

"Amelia," he whispered, "go home."

"We can manage here," Gideon said kindly.

"And we'll send you an owl if there are any developments," Frank added.

Fabian mouthed "go" and, reluctantly, Amelia took her coat and bag and left the office.


	9. Chapter 9: An Unexpected House Guest

**Author's Note: **Sorry for the wait! I'm awful, I know!

**Chapter 9: An Unexpected House Guest**

The sky was beginning to darken as Amelia walked home. She shivered, though it was not particularly cold. Being out at nighttime was not advised. As she hurried along, Amelia began to notice all the Muggles around her. Some clearly had to be places, moving fast. Some walked in packs, laughing and joking, taking up all of the pavement. There were even a few families, little children swinging off the hands of their parents. And none of them knew anything about Lord Voldemort or what he wanted to do. There was a war waging around them, against them and they had no idea. A little girl with blonde pigtails, clutching the hand of a ragged bear, smiled up at Amelia as she went past. Amelia returned the smile, though it was impossible for her to do so without feeling extremely sad and a little bit guilty.

She arrived back at her flat and, finding the elevator was out of order, started the long climb up the stairs. After what seemed like a never ending flow of steps, she came to her floor and went to her door. Fumbling with her keys, she stuck them in the lock and went inside. The sun had set completely over London, the pale moonlight streaking through Amelia's window, leaving its trails on the floor. She threw her bag on the table and lit a cigarette, the glow reflecting off her face in the dark. She had a few puffs, placed it in the ashtray and then went off to bed, where she fell asleep instantly; Fabian had been right, she was exhausted.

A loud clattering woke Amelia from her sleep. She sat bolt upright, her heart beat speeding up. Someone was in the flat. She pulled on her dressing gown and grabbed her wand from her bed side table. Then, quietly, she tip-toed out to the living room, holding her wand high, ready to attack.

"Rowan!" she cried.

The brown haired, green eyed witch who was bending over a pot on the stove jumped when her name was called.

"God, you gave me a fright! Why don't you sit down? Eggs?" she said, gesturing at the pot.

Amelia, completely bemused, stumbled over to the table and took a seat.

"What? Why?" she mumbled, "How do you know where I live?"

"I followed you," Rowan said, unashamed, "Then picked your lock. Your security measures really are very lax!"

"And you stayed here all night?" Amelia exclaimed.

"Slept on the couch, yes," Rowan nodded, "It seemed rude to wake you."

The young woman's idea of rudeness was a pretty strange one, Amelia thought, as she was handed a large serving of scrambled eggs.

"And I did some shopping for you," Rowan continued, "Honestly, when was the last time you ate properly?"

"It's been a rough few months," Amelia said defensively, in between mouthfuls.

"I guessed," Rowan said knowingly, "You left a cigarette burning last night. Could've burnt down the whole place! I probably saved your life."

"Thanks," Amelia muttered.

"Not that it'll be worth it, if you keep smoking those things," Rowan said, putting the pot in the sink and then, taking out her wand, enchanting it to wash itself, "They're pretty bad for your health!"

"So I've been told," Amelia said.

"Could I use your shower?" Rowan asked suddenly.

The older witch finished her breakfast in silence whilst her younger counterpart showered. It was six-o'clock or there about and Amelia wondered if anyone was missing Rowan. She liked to think that there were friends who wondered about her well being. But the harsh reality told her that Rowan was alone. Maybe that was why she had let her stay in her house; anyone else would have been unceremoniously told to bugger off. When Rowan was done and she herself had freshened up and dressed, Amelia sat her down.

"Why did you come here?" Amelia asked solemnly.

Rowan instantly became the nervous, unsure girl that Amelia had first seen in Knockturn Alley.

"I, I didn't know who else to come to," she said quietly, "I heard something yesterday, people arguing. It was the Boss. It was Darius. He was talking to this other man that I didn't know. I don't like to eavesdrop, you know, but this sounded important. The man was saying that you'd identified Ches and he was worried that you might connect everything. And Darius told him to shut up and sit tight, that you didn't have anyway of knowing about the recruitments or something like that. He said, he said that they needn't go to him, because it wasn't important and he would only get angry."

Rowan swallowed and then took a deep breath.

"They were talking about _him_. The Dark Lord."

Her voice shrank away to nothing more than a whisper, as if the word itself would burn her throat.

"Voldemort."

Amelia's eyes widened. So it was true. Mitchie had been unwittingly handed cases that led back to the Death Eaters and their master. What ever was at the heart of these murders was far darker than anyone had first realized.

"I remembered that you said I should come to you if I found anything else out," Rowan said, her voice still a whisper, "so I figured I should tell you right away."

"I'm glad you did," Amelia said quickly, "though I think your personal safety should be more present in your thoughts when you make judgements like this."

"It's okay!" Rowan said, perking up a bit, "They didn't hear me. Besides, I know how to take care of myself."

"I don't doubt it," Amelia said with a small sigh.

Amelia got up from the table, grabbed her jacket from over the back of a chair and slipped her wand into the pocket. Then she picked up her bag and slung it over her shoulder.

"Where are you going?" Rowan said, standing up and gathering her own things.

"To work," Amelia replied, "You can stay here if you like."

"Can't I come with you?" Rowan asked, sounding like a young child, "I've never been inside the Ministry of Magic before!"

Amelia stopped and stared at the eager young witch; she was probably going to regret this.

"Fine," she groaned, "Just don't wander off anywhere once we're inside."

Rowan grinned and clapped a little with excitement. She made her way over to the fireplace, where Amelia was standing with a small pot. There was no time for walking today. Both women stepped inside the fireplace, stooping a little. Amelia, her heart still racing, took a handful of floo powder.

"The Ministry of Magic," she whispered and bright green flames swallowed them up.


	10. Chapter 10: Choices

**Chapter 10: Choices**

After much whizzing and twirling about, the witches were deposited in one of the fire places that led out to the Atrium. Rowan stumbled a bit, but Amelia stepped out with the confident strides of a woman who had been doing this all her life, making the transition from fire to floor extremely smoothly. It was about the time that everyone else was arriving too, so the black, marble floors were covered in people, all heading in different directions. Amelia was moving quickly, but she kept having to stop to grab Rowan, keeping her from getting lost in the crowd. The young woman was absolutely breath taken with the Ministry. Her eyes were wide, staring at the high ceilings and general chaos. She nearly fell over when they reached the fountain.

"Look at the House Elf!" she squealed, "Isn't he cute?"

"Extremely," Amelia said flatly, "But this isn't a guided tour. Try to keep up."

However she couldn't help but marvel at the way Rowan seemed to find joy in everything, even the tiniest, most insignificant detail. She was full of questions, delighting in any piece of knowledge that came her way. Amelia wondered why she couldn't feel like that. In all her time at the Ministry, she had not one stopped to appreciate the small things, or the big things if it really came to it. Manmade structures did not impress her, not after everything she had seen; death, disease, destruction. It was the people that got to her, the everyday, individual stories of life. They stepped into one of the lifts and Amelia found herself looking at Rowan, wondering about the story of her life. Rowan caught her and smiled.

"You're staring," she commented, "Why?"

"Sorry," Amelia said, "I was just wondering-"

"-about me?" Rowan predicted, "How I came to be doing what I am?"

Amelia nodded, feeling very impertinent, but Rowan didn't seem to mind. If anything, she was happy to have somebody showing an interest.

"When I was a kid," Rowan said, "I wanted to be a Herbologist. We had a little garden outside our house and I was an only child, so I used to spend hours tending to it. My dad was a Herbologist, you see. He died when I was about eleven. I was away at school when it happened; I can still remember the Headmaster pulling me aside and telling me. He was so kind, old Dumbledore."

"You went to Hogwarts?" Amelia said, more surprised than she perhaps should've been.

"Yeah, I was in Gryffindor," Rowan said proudly, "You?"

"Ravenclaw."

"Anyway," Rowan went on, "I finished school with a few NEWTs under my belt and my mum got sick. We had never been terribly well off, but her care cost everything we had and in the end she died despite it. I had to sell the house to pay off her medical bills. So I came to London, 'The Big Smoke' as it were. But I couldn't find any work. Catch-22: They'll only hire people with work experience, but you need to get work to get the experience. I ended up sleeping rough and that's when I met Darius. He told me that I could make easy money, working for him. I didn't like it, but he had such a sweet way of talking and I was all alone; at that point I would've sold him my soul."

She smiled bitterly, resentment swimming in her eyes.

"Only later did I realize that I actually had sold my soul. There was no way for me to get out. I had been trapped and I've been that way ever since."

Her expression was that of anger but also of something else; resignation. She had given up all hope of her situation changing. Here was a girl with spirit, but it had been beaten out of her until all that was left was a pretty mask of indifference and a quiet desperation she had to hide. Few things broke Amelia's heart, but this had to be one of them.

"I hope you catch that son of a bitch," Rowan whispered.

"Don't worry, I will," Amelia said resolutely, "One way or another, he's going to answer for what he did, to you, to Ches, to everyone else."

The lift stopped on the right floor and the pair stepped out. Amelia began to walk towards her cubicle, but she was intercepted by Vera, a small witch with bleach blonde hair and pointy face, who acted as the secretary for Bartimius or Barty Crouch, the now head of Magical Law Enforcement.

"Ms Bones," Vera squeaked in her high pitched voice, "Mr Crouch would like to see you in his office. Now, if the time is convenient."

Amelia nodded and turned to Rowan.

"I've got to do this," she said, "Just keep going down that way. Ask for Auror Unit B. That's the people who interviewed you at The Leaky Cauldron. Tell them what you told me. If none of them are in, ask for Dolores Umbridge. I'll meet you soon."

Rowan nodded her understanding and Amelia watched her for a bit to check she was heading in the right direction. Then the Auror went back to the lifts.

Crouch's office was one floor up from the Auror office. The door was big and black, with a gold plaque that advertised his name and position. Amelia knocked twice and the door was opened by Vera. The room was small with bland, mint green coloured walls, reminding Amelia a little of a hospital. Vera had a desk, which she sat back down behind and instructed Amelia to go through another door. This room was much bigger, the walls made of a dark, mahogany wood. The carpet was a deep, dark blue. A large desk with a high back chair was situated in front of two large windows. Staring out of one of those windows was Barty Crouch. He was a tall man, with greying hair, a moustache and an oval shaped head. His suit was crisp and wrinkle free, a fact that made Amelia wonder if it was enchanted. He turned as she entered.

"Ah, Ms Bones," he said with a smile that didn't reach his eyes, "won't you have a seat?"

"I'll stand, if it's all the same, Sir," Amelia replied, "I've got a lot of work to do."

"I really think you'd be much more comfortable if you sat down," Crouch said.

It was a power play, Amelia could see that, Crouch asserting his position over hers. She took the seat and waited for him to make the next move.

"How's your current case going?" he said conversationally.

"Fine, thank you, Sir," Amelia said, "Though things are more complicated than we first thought."

"I feared it might be too easy for your capable team," Crouch said, "but Mr Williams requested it be given to you especially."

"Did he?" Amelia said in surprise.

This was news to her.

"He wrote a letter," Crouch nodded, "saying that if anything should happen to him he wanted some case files delivered to you. Said he knew you were the best."

Amelia smiled inwardly.

"But other people are also aware of your talents, Ms Bones, I can assure you," Crouch added.

He moved away from the window and sat down in the high backed chair, facing Amelia.

"You do, of course, know that I still need somebody to take my place as head of the Auror Office?" Crouch asked, "Perhaps you remember our little discussion on the subject, not so long ago?"

Amelia nodded but decided it was best to say nothing.

"The Minister for Magic and I have been assessing all of the possible candidates." Crouch said, "And we have decided that, if you should wish to take it, the position is yours. Like I said, Ms Bones, your talents have not gone unnoticed."

Amelia sat still for a moment, considering what had been placed before her. This was one of the bigger jobs at the Ministry, something that was generally a stepping stone for further greatness. But did Amelia really want further greatness?

"Thank you for your offer," Amelia said in a business like manner, "also for your appraisal of my abilities. May I have some time to think about it?"

Crouch inclined his head forward.

"Of course."

Amelia stood up and turned to leave.

"Remember one thing, Ms Bones," Crouch said as she went, "This hand has been dealt in your favour. But the next round has to be played and the same cards won't be on the table forever."

"I'll keep that in mind, Sir," Amelia said.

And she closed the door behind her.

Waiting for the lift, Amelia was having a battle inside her head. Why didn't she say yes to the job right there and then? It was a coveted position, one that meant she had the power to make a real difference. Crouch believed she was up to it, hell, so did the Minister! So why was she so reluctant to accept? As she debated, another person came up beside her. Yaxley, always known by his last name, held some job that Amelia wasn't too sure about, something to do with the regulation of new spells. He was big, solid as well as tall, with dirty blonde hair and a rugged jawline. The two sorcerers weren't particularly close; he'd taken her out to dinner a few times and he an eloquent way with words that she enjoyed, but nothing had really come of it. He gave her a smile.

"So did you get the job?" he asked.

"Have you seriously been waiting up here all this time just to find out?" Amelia laughed.

"What?" Yaxley grinned, "Can't a man make an innocent, friendly comment to his colleague?"

"No," Amelia said decisively, "Not you. You're far too driven for conversational platitudes."

Yaxley shrugged and let her go in first as the lift doors dinged open.

"So?" he said, "Since you've seen through my disguise, I might as well get an answer."

Amelia sighed, "I don't know. I've got things on a lower level to deal with first."

Yaxley looked incredulous.

"You can't be serious?" he exclaimed, "You're actually considering not taking it?"

"I don't know!" Amelia repeated, "Things are a bit up in the air at the moment."

Yaxley nodded. The lift stopped on Amelia's floor and the doors slowly glided open. Amelia played with the strap of her bag as she waited for them to open fully, all the while wishing she could just press the ground button, head back through the Atrium and go home. But she couldn't.

"For what it's worth," Yaxley said as she exited, "I think you'd be very good at it."


	11. Chapter 11: Drawing Conclusions

**Chapter 11: Drawing Conclusions**

Amelia walked the familiar walk between the cubicles down to her one. Her team hadn't moved since she last saw them, all three men huddled around the desk making notes and comparing photographs. Rowan was perched on Dolores' desk in the opposite space, drinking a steaming cup of tea. Dolores was doing some kind of filing. She stopped and handed Amelia a cup without saying a word, which her friend accepted gratefully.

"Have you lot been here all night?" Amelia asked, pulling up a chair between Frank and Fabian.

"Apart from a brief pizza break, yes," Frank replied.

Lots of coffee had been a part of that break, Amelia suspected, looking at their bleary eyes. Fabian leaned closer to her.

"What did Crouch want?" he whispered.

Amelia looked up at him, at his eyes swimming with genuine concern and she felt a pang in her stomach.

"Nothing important," she lied, "Just checking in on our progress."

It was a pretty shoddy lie. Not that it mattered; she had never been able to fool Fabian. He watched her for a second but dropped it, turning back to Frank, who was still talking. Amelia looked down at the table, feeling extremely guilty for lying to partner. But for some reason she just couldn't bring herself to let Fabian know the truth. She didn't want to tell any of her team. What if they thought she was abandoning them?

"So Rowan has filled us in on the new developments," Frank was saying.

Rowan appeared to have ingratiated herself with the team and she looked quite at home sitting on the edge of their secretary's desk, swinging her legs like one might off the side of a pier. Amelia gave her a small smile and she beamed back, clearly pleased to be helping.

"We haven't been able to identify any of the traditional Death Eater insignia," Frank said, "None of the victims wore the Dark Mark nor were their deaths marked with one in the sky."

"How did you go on the triangle front?" Amelia inquired, taking a sip of her tea.

"That was more successful," Frank said, "Gideon, where are the photos?"

"These were the ones that best show what we found," Gideon explained, passing Amelia a selection of the case photographs, "If you look at Bartholomew his wand was broken. But we read over the reports and his last spell was 'Reparo'"

"Not excatly defensive," Amelia said.

"Exactly," Gideon agreed, "So why did he have it out if he didn't use it? And even if he fell on it, it wouldn't have broken the way it did. So we looked closer and, sure enough, the pieces were arranged; three parts set out in a triangle. They're spread out, so it's not easy to spot if you don't know what you're looking for."

"What about Swann?"

"His watch," Gideon said, "The shatter pattern is all wrong. The glass was broken into three, relatively clean parts."

"Suggesting the fall wasn't the reason it smashed," Amelia said.

She looked at the photograph and there it was; the glass pieces arranged like the corners of a triangle. The symbol was in all of the deaths, but what did it mean? Mitchie had known, Amelia was sure of it. Still, there was more to this case than just a triangle.

"So what about the killer?" Amelia asked, "Or is it killers? Were they known to the victims? If not, how did they select their targets? Do we have any thoughts?"

"I'm still going Finch for the girl," Frank said, "He could've killed the others as well. They might've been customers or something."

"But that doesn't fit with the profile we've been given of Swann!" Fabian said, "Or Bartholomew for that matter. According to the people we've talked to, they led exemplary lives. "

"Which begs the question 'Why were they killed?'" Amelia said, "Motive is something we've got very little of in this case."

"Well, unless you count the need to purge all the world of 'inferior blood', which is the Death Eater mission statement," Frank said, "Swann was Muggleborn and Bartholomew was a half-blood, married to a Muggle. As far as those barbarians are concerned, that's a good enough reason."

"A Muggleborn, a half-blood and a girl no one would miss," Amelia sighed.

At that moment, a little paper plane floated through the space and landed on Dolores' desk. It was an inter-departmental memo and the secretary picked it up and read it.

"Apparently there's someone down in the Atrium wanting to see you," she said, "Should I go down and get them?"

Amelia nodded and a few minutes later Dolores had shown Hestia Jones into their cubicle. The witch looked a little uncertain, but Dolores gave an encouraging smile and offered her her chair.

"What do you want to see me about?" Amelia said.

"I remembered where I'd seen that girl before," Hestia said, "the one you showed me."

"Oh yes?" Amelia said, sounding interested.

"She used to hang about the shop sometimes," the girl said, "Larry would meet with her when he got off his shift. I figured they were together."

"Larry?" Gideon asked, "Who's Larry?"

"Larry Stoneham," Hestia replied, "He works at my uncle's shop. He'd go off with the girl. Usually quite late, I recall. We have to stay after closing sometimes to do accounts and stocktaking, things like that."

"Did he ever meet with anyone else?" Amelia asked, her mind spinning.

"Yeah," Hestia nodded, thinking hard, "There was this one guy who used to go with them sometimes, wherever they went. I don't think Larry liked him much; he always looked a little afraid of him."

"And you said you were an artist?" Amelia said.

Hestia looked a little taken aback by this random question.

"Yes, I am," she said, "Not terribly conventional, I know. My dad wanted me to go into potions like him, but I told him on no uncertain terms that that wasn't happening."

Amelia smiled, though it was one of tolerance as opposed to actual interest. She had stood up and was pacing the floor. Fabian watched her as she moved, his eyes a little narrow, as if to say "what are you up to?"

"Do you think you could draw this man?" Amelia asked the young artist.

Hestia nodded and so Amelia instructed Dolores to fetch her a quill and some parchment. The tools were laid down on the desk in front of Hestia, who picked up the quill and weighed it in her hand. She dipped the nib into some ink and, after a little deliberation, drew a smooth, curved line across the parchment. Then she began to draw more quickly, little black scratches beginning to form the basis of a face. Amelia had to admit that was pretty good, though she knew little of the artistic world herself. Soon a face had appeared on the parchment, almost like a photograph. It was a man with a heart shaped head, hair the fell passed his shoulders, small, clever eyes and a thin, cruel mouth. Amelia took it and pinned it up on the board so everyone could see. Rowan gave a small gasp.

"That's Darius," she whispered.

"I'll say!" Frank exclaimed, "It's the spitting image of him. Your vocation certainly isn't potions, Miss Jones."

It was all beginning to make sense to Amelia. If Hestia had seen Darius, then Darius knew Larry and both of them knew Francesca, so maybe, just maybe.

"Draw Larry Stoneham," Amelia instructed.

Hestia did so, drawing a boy not much older than herself, with shaggy, badly cut hair, a large nose, some spots on his cheeks and a combination of eyes and mouth that made him look a little stupid. Amelia snatched it up when Hestia had barely finished and handed it to Rowan.

"Is this the man you saw with Darius?" she asked, sounding and looking a little manic.

Rowan glanced at the picture and shook her head.

"No, he was much older."

"Are you sure?" Amelia breathed, "Look again."

"She said she was sure, Amelia," Fabian said bluntly.

Amelia threw the parchment down and turned on her heel, almost running out of the cubicle.

"Where are you going, Bones?" Fabian yelled.

"I need a cigarette!" she hollered back.

He made a move to follow her, but Dolores was already going. Fabian sighed and shook his head.

"Come on, everyone," he said quietly, "back to work."


	12. Chapter 12: The Only Way is Up

**Chapter 12: The Only Way is Up**

Amelia wasn't entirely certain what had made her snap. She had just been so sure that Larry was going to be the piece in the puzzle that brought everything together. But why was she kidding herself? Even if Larry had killed Bartholomew, it didn't explain why. It didn't explain why Darius had killed Francesca or why Swann had been murdered. There were so many lose ends and Amelia didn't like it. She got in the lift and rode it all the way down to the Atrium. Then she stormed over to the exit that led to the Muggle streets, coming out in a Tube Station bathroom. It was a cold day, the wind whipping at her face as she emerged from the underground. Dodging cars, she ran across the road and into an alcove created by large buildings on either side. There, she leant against the wall and angrily took out a cigarette, lighting it and shoving it in her mouth, taking several sharps puffs.

"I never knew you could smoke with such emotion," Dolores said dryly.

She had followed her friend out of the building and across the street, the pink bow in her hair fluttering in the wind like a monotone butterfly. She kept her distance, standing a few paces away. Amelia shot her a disdainful look but said nothing. They stayed in silence until Amelia threw the cigarette on the ground and stamped it out with her foot.

"Better?" Dolores asked flatly.

"No, not really," Amelia admitted begrudgingly.

"What's wrong?" Dolores said, "You've had worse cases than this, at least, ones that've progressed more slowly."

"Nothing's wrong!" Amelia snapped, "I just thought I had it, that's all."

The shorter witch sighed and walked over to her friend.

"Amelia," she said, "there's no shame in admitting that you're still hurting."

Amelia turned to her, her eyes steely, as if to protest. Her parents had nothing to do with this; she was fine! But then her body hung limp and tears began to well in her eyes.

"I miss them so much," she whispered.

Dolores came over and gave her a hug. She was so short that Amelia could almost rest her chin on her head. Dolores patted her back.

"It's okay," she said quietly, "It's alright."

Amelia pulled away, her eyes still full of tears.

"I never got to say goodbye," she cried, her voice hoarse, "Never got to thank them, for everything they did."

"I'm sure they knew," Dolores said kindly, "I'm certain they did."

"Is everything okay?"

Fabian had joined them. He smiled at Amelia, a hopeful, careful smile, as if he was trying not to startle her. Amelia managed to return a small one, to let him know it was fine. He had come, as he always did, and for that she was grateful.

"I'm fine, Fabian," she said, "Fine."

But she still let him pull her into a hug. Then he placed his hands on her shoulders.

"We're gonna get this one!" he said, "Okay?"

"Yeah," Amelia nodded, "I'm sorry."

Fabian put his hands in his pockets and shrugged.

"You've been going through a lot, we get that. Everyone has their off moments."

Amelia laughed a little and wiped the tears off her cheeks.

"But still, they don't yell at a witness, throw evidence and then storm off in a huff! It was completely unprofessional, I shouldn't have done it."

"Yeah," Fabian conceded, "but I get where you're coming from. This case is just one dead end after another."

"You just need to identify all the pieces," Dolores said, "then the picture will come together all on it's own! Come on, we should be getting back."

But Amelia had frozen. One word that Dolores had said was resonating in her head.

"Identify," she whispered and then she broke into a run, heading back to the Ministry.

Dolores and Fabian managed to catch up with her as she started across the Atrium.

"What is it?" Dolores puffed as she ran up beside the other witch.

"How did that man Rowan saw with Darius know that we had identified Francesca Dyer?" Amelia said, "We haven't released it officially, it's not common knowledge. So how did he know?"

"Because we had told him ourselves," Fabian said, in a tone of dawning understanding.

"Exactly," Amelia replied darkly.

"Matt Demming," Amelia said as she approached the group of Aurors around her desk.

"What about him?" Frank asked.

"He's the one," Fabian said, "the one Rowan saw with Darius."

"And, if I'm right," Amelia added, "he killed Swann."

"And how did all this come about?" Gideon inquired.

"Identity," Amelia said, "When Mitchie was on the case, he hadn't found out Francesca's name, so even if he did interview the other victims' relatives, they wouldn't have been told her name. The only people who know are the people we told and there are only three others apart from Rowan and Miss Jones who we did. Tom, from the Leaky Cauldron, Gornuk and Demming. I can't believe Tom is involved. This is a wizard war, not something a goblin like Gornuk would get involved in. Besides, Rowan saw Tom so she could've identified him. And she would've been able to spot a goblin. Which leaves us with-"

"- Demming," Frank said with a frown.

Amelia nodded.

"Do we have any photos of him?"

Frank shook his head.

"He's got no record."

Amelia scrunched her hands into fists and bit her lip. But after a little thought, she turned to Hestia.

"Can you draw from a description?"

"I could try," the girl shrugged.

"Good," Amelia said firmly, "Gideon, you've got the best memory, go with Miss Jones and try and get us a likeness."

Gideon nodded and they went down the corridor to his cubicle. Amelia turned back towards the board.

"It clears things up a little," she said, "Finch kills Francesca, Larry kills Bartholomew and Demming kills Swann. They each pick a person that they can get access to."

"But why?" Frank exclaimed.

Amelia frowned and folded her arms across her chest. "That's the bit I'm still working on," she said slowly, scanning the board for something, anything.

Gideon returned with a sketch and handed it to his leader with a significant look. Amelia glanced at the page; there was Demming, with his perfectly trimmed beard and clever eyes. Amelia nodded her approval and then handed the parchment to Rowan.

"Is this your man?" she said.

Rowan's green eyes stared at the face for a few seconds, taking in every contour, then she nodded.

"This is him."

"Right," Amelia said brightly, "I think it's time we paid Mr Demming another visit. To ask him why he _conveniently_ forgot to mention that he's a Death Eater and he actually does know all our victims and their killers."


	13. Chapter 13: Hidden Messages

**Chapter 13: Hidden Messages**

The first place they went to was Gringotts Bank. Not surprisingly, Mr Demming was not there. He hadn't been seen since yesterday, when the team had interviewed him. A quick search of his office showed that some objects had been cleared out, suggesting he wasn't planning to come back any time soon. They got a home address from his employers, which took them to an address in a fancy part of London. A large gate, covered in twisting vines, guarded an even larger house. The walls were covered in white, wooden slats, the roof was painted black. Amelia went up to the gate and gave it a push; it swung open. Getting into the house was just as easy. They made their way up the front steps, to find the door was already open.

"No protective enchantments," Fabian said, "He didn't even lock the door! Something tells me he's not going to be here."

"We're still looking around," Amelia said, taking her wand from her jacket pocket.

They searched through every room, checking for hidden doors or concealments in every possible place, but Demming was not at home. A fridge full of food and a wardrobe with a few empty coat hangers indicated his getaway had been quick. They searched some more but found nothing of use. Amelia sighed; they were not going to get anything from here.

With Demming out of the picture for now, their next task was to find Larry Stoneham. Hestia had given them the address of a block of flats in a less nice part of town. They were wizard owned and operated, giving the magical Londoner somewhere to stay. The building was a grey cube with lots of little windows placed in a seemingly random formation. There was one door smacked right in the middle, painted white, though this was peeling and cracking. The lawn was out of control, with wispy bits of grass shooting up in every direction, some blades reaching the knees. There was a gravel path that had somehow managed to remain visible amongst the jungle. An owl had made its home in an overgrown tree in the corner of the lawn and periodically puffs of pink smoke were emitted from a top story window; this place had to be breaking about a million secrecy laws.

Amelia led the way up to the door and knocked. There was no reply. She knocked again and they waited for a few more minutes; nothing. Amelia frowned and, stepping gingerly through the grass, looked in the closest window. She didn't have time to see much before the curtain was rapidly drawn across.

"There's someone in there," Amelia said, going back to the door.

She knocked on it again and kept going until they heard the jingling of chains. The door was pushed ajar and the eyes of a tiny, unkempt little witch peered out.

"What do you want?" she demanded, her voice a harsh whisper.

"I'm looking for Larry Stoneham," Amelia said, "I've been told he lives here?"

"Not anymore," the witch shook her head, "he cleared out of here a few days ago."

"Where did he go?" Amelia asked.

"I dunno," the witch shrugged, "he didn't mention where he was going."

"Why did he leave?"

Again the witch shrugged.

"All he said was he didn't feel safe in London at the moment. Can't say I blame him, with randoms turning up unannounced, banging on your door!"

And with that the little witch slammed the door shut again. Fabian was about to start banging, but Amelia shook her head.

"We've got what we need to know," she said, turning back down the path.

"And what's that?" Fabian asked.

"Demming and Stoneham have made a run for it," she replied.

"Which means?" Frank said.

"Which means," Amelia answered, "we were right."

The only thing to do now was go back to the drawing board. They returned to the Ministry and spent the rest of the morning theorizing. Several cups of coffee later, they had come up with many different ideas, all of which would make interesting novels, none of which seemed to make sense in the real world. There just didn't appear to be any motive for the killings. As Frank had said earlier, Death Eaters often didn't need a motive, but why then hadn't they stepped forward to claim the killings? Amelia, getting annoyed again, screwed up a piece of parchment and threw it as far as she could. It must've landed in someone's cubicle because a moment later it came hurtling back, hitting Frank on the head.

They worked through lunch, something Amelia only realized when her stomach started to rumble. Luckily one could always count on Dolores to be there when needed, because she and Rowan came with a bag full of sandwiches.

"And they had little cupcakes with flowers on them!" Rowan was saying, "I don't think I've ever been in a bakery so fancy!"

Amelia grinned and accepted one with chicken salad. A slice of beetroot slipped from Frank's sandwich and fell onto his lap.

"Damn it!" he groaned, "Does anyone know a stain removal charm? I've never been good with those domestic spells."

"I think I might have some napkins in my bag," Rowan suggested.

She rummaged around and pulled out a white paper napkin, handing it to Frank.

"Hold it," Amelia said quickly, "Drop the napkin!"

Frank did so in alarm and Amelia snatched it up, turning it over in her hands. On one side of the napkin was a triangle, three dots representing each corner of the triangle. They appeared to have been burned on by a wand. Amelia turned it around to show everyone and then handed it back to Rowan.

"Where'd you get this?" she asked.

"The Hangman, I think," Rowan said with a frown, "I usually keep some in case of emergencies."

The witch thought for a while, gave Frank a different napkin, and then she gasped.

"Of course," she said, "I saw some people with them at the pub. It was busy, late at night. I'd just finished with a client and he'd bought me a drink. Anyway, I saw these people come down the stairs with the napkins with holes in them. I watched for a bit and some more came down. I wondered what they were doing, because the boss keeps his rooms upstairs, so I guessed they were up to no good. One of them left theirs on a table and I picked it up. I'd forgotten about it until now."

"So Darius was giving these out?" Fabian said, "Why?"

"Some kind of message, I guess," Amelia said.

"Dumb sort of message," Frank said, angrily dabbing at the beetroot stain on his trousers, "I mean, no one can work it out."

"That's because it's not meant for us," Gideon said soundly, "It means something to the people who received it."

"Well that's the Death Eaters," Frank said, "But I don't see what that has to do with our victims."

"And what do the Death Eaters want with a triangle?" Fabian added, "Unless they've got sick of the dark mark and want to try out a new symbol?"

Amelia, who had been staring at the board, jerked her head around.

"New," she whispered, another piece of the jigsaw coming to her in an epiphany.

She shook her head at her own stupidity and then smiled at Fabian; she could've kissed him.

"It's not a message for us," Amelia said, "It's a message for those wanting to join the Death Eaters."

"How'd you work that one out, Bones?" Fabian said, rubbing his face with his hands.

"Darius and Demming were talking about recruitments. They're trying to get people to join the Death Eaters and this business has something to do with it."

"Okay, maybe," Frank said, "But what does the triangle have to do with it?"

"It could be a code or something," Amelia said, defending her idea.

Gideon, however, shook his head. He too had been staring at board, his blue eyes pensive. He stood up and began to rearrange things, ignoring the protests of his fiancee. When he had finished, all the triangles and murder photos had been lined up next to a map of London, red push pins representing all sites of significance.

"It's not a code," he said slowly, "It's a puzzle. The whole thing is a puzzle. It's telling them where to go."


	14. Chapter 14: Points of Intersection

**Chapter 14: Points of Intersection**

The entire group huddled around the board as Gideon explained what he thought he had found.

"It's in the map and the position of the bodies, something we never looked at," he said, "If we look at the places where each victim was killed in relation to each other, we find that their respective points are-"

"- the corners of a triangle," Amelia said with a gasp.

Gideon nodded.

"And if we look at the way the bodies were found, they all have one thing in common; their arms are all pointed out forwards."

Taking a closer look at the photographs, Amelia found it was indeed so. Though the bodies were at slightly different angles, each had only one sticking out, almost as if they were waving at somebody. Once she had noticed it, she couldn't believe she hadn't spotted it sooner.

"I believe the bodies are signposts," Gideon said, "leading prospective Death Eaters to the place where they can officially sign up."

"How would anyone get that?" Rowan said incredulously.

"Well, that's what the napkins are for," Gideon said.

"A starting clue," Amelia said crossing her arms, "Solve it and, not only does it keep the whole thing hush hush, but it proves you've got the brains for the operation."

"The deaths would've been put in the papers at some point," Gideon continued, "We were unwittingly giving them free advertising."

"So the victims weren't actually chosen for a reason, only that they were convenient," Frank said, shaking his head.

"Kieran Swann, living alone. Fredrick Bartholomew," Amelia said, "wife and daughters out of town and Francesca Dyer."

"The girl no one would miss," Fabian quoted with a sigh.

"Yes," his brother agreed, his brow furrowed, "It was certainly a crime of opportunity."

Every death was a waste, a cruel waste of a life, but somehow this was more; it was unfair. Now, Amelia was definitely not an advocate of murder, but at least other victims had some kind of emotional value, there was a personal motive. But people like Kieran Swann wouldn't have even entertained the idea that someone had it out for them. 'Had it out for them' wasn't even a good description. They were merely pawns in someone else's game, disposable, replaceable, just in the wrong place in the wrong time. But perhaps that what all killings were; somebody getting into the wrong situation at an undesirable moment. Amelia shook her head; it didn't pay to philosophical in this business.

"Each of our killers chooses a victim," she continued, "one that won't be connected to the others."

"Except they are," Fabian butted in, "Mitchie Williams works it out."

"He solves the puzzle!" Amelia said, turning to look at him, "Finds the signposts."

"And because of that they have to silence him," Fabian nodded, "Fast."

"Without any prior planning."

"Which is why they do it in a back alley!"

"And why it goes wrong. Mitchie doesn't die."

They stood grinning at each other. Everyone else just stared at them.

"I think this," Frank said, indicating his co-workers, "is cute. But you've forgotten, Sherlock, that we haven't solved the puzzle yet."

Amelia frowned and turned to the other Prewett.

"Fabian," she said, "Does your theory extend to where exactly the signposts point?"

Gideon took the map down from the board and laid it out flat on the desk. He reached over and picked up a quill, dipping it in ink. Then, with a steady hand, he connected the dots marked out, forming a black triangle with perfectly straight lines. His face wrinkled with concentration, Gideon flicked his eyes back up to the photographs, taking in the exact angles of where each body was positioned. Then he drew three lines, each one originating from a different corner of the triangle. He lent back a bit and Amelia surveyed what he had drawn closely. There was a point, a place on the map where all three lines intersected.

"Where is that?" she asked.

Dolores got another map from her desk drawers and gave it to her fiance, who spread out the clean map next to the other.

"146 Hardgrave Street," he said after much cross checking.

"That's in a Muggle area," Rowan said, "Surely people would notice?"

"What's there to notice" Frank said, "People in black, walking in and out of a house? This is London! People don't see things until they've already passed by and I'm guessing there isn't a flashing sign saying 'Join the Dark Side in Here!'"

Fabian nodded his agreement.

"People in Muggle residencies aren't on the alert like those in Wizarding communities. There's nothing for them to be suspicious about."

"Still," Amelia pondered, "why there? Who owns it? When are they actually planning to have these meetings?"

"We could get our contacts in the Muggle Police Force to look into it?" Frank suggested, "They'd have access to those kinds of records."

"Good idea," Amelia replied, "Jane, Darling, would you mind?"

"I'll get on to it," the secretary said and she began to write out a letter.

"In the mean time," Amelia said, "I'd like to get eyes on the place. Do we have any people from the Animagus unit available?"

Fabian shook his head.

"I checked a little while ago and they're all booked out on assignments. Unless you want Sam Faraday."

"And what's he?" Amelia inquired.

"A horse."

"Right," Amelia said slowly, "In that case we're going to need wheels. Something that would fit on a Muggle street."

"A hearse?" Frank suggested.

"Something less ominous."

"A taxi?" Rowan piped up.

"Something less inviting."

"A white van with tinted windows?" Fabian said.

"Something less..." Amelia hesitated, "creepy."

"A black Sedan?" Gideon said.

Amelia thought for a moment.

"That sounds perfect," she smiled.

The team pulled on their jackets and got their wands. Then, after they had tidied up at Dolores' insistence, they headed out to the lift and made their way to the transport storage area. There were all kinds of vehicles at the Ministry's disposal, including a Sedan, black, with magically expanded interior. Amelia signed for it, on the condition that neither Frank or Fabian were aloud to drive, something she agreed to despite their protests. With their leader in the driver's seat, the four Aurors went off to find 146 Hardgrave Street.


	15. Chapter 15: Destination Now Known

**Chapter 15: Destination Now Known**

Fabian, Amelia decided, was never going to be the navigator again. They had driven around for at least twenty minutes before he discovered that he was holding the map upside down. After back tracking several hundred metres, he then steered them into two dead ends. Finally Amelia slammed on the brakes.

"Give it to Gideon," she snapped, "Just give it to Gideon!"

Reluctantly, Fabian handed over the map to his brother (though it was less about following orders and more about the fact that Amelia was threatening to throw the keys out the window) and they started off again.

With Gideon in charge of directions, it didn't take them terribly long to find the right address; 146 Hardgrave Street was a house in a long strip of houses, each little section divided by a metal railing. It was a brick building, with a large, black door and concrete stairs leading up from the sidewalk. There was a small, square mail box perched on top of the gate and two windows with the curtains drawn. Amelia pulled up on a side street, on the corner so they could still see the structure but weren't too exposed to the enemy. Her eyes scanned the area; it didn't look suspicious in the least. On the surface it was your classic, Muggle suburb and that, Amelia thought, was what made it so dangerous.

"Someone has to get out of the car," she said quickly, "Otherwise it will look strange, our parking here."

She, Gideon and Fabian all looked at each other and then said in perfect unison, "Frank!"

Their target looked around at them, an incredulous look on his face, and then let out a groan.

"Really?" he said, "What am I supposed to do?"

"Just wander around for a bit, I don't know," Amelia shrugged, "Do some errands, get a snack."

"Don't have any money," Frank said matter-of-factly.

With a sigh, Amelia reached into her bag and pulled out a handful of sickles and a Muggle ten-pound note.

"Go crazy," she said flatly.

"Thanks," Frank replied with equal flatness, getting out of the car.

"When you come back, try and walk past the house," Gideon said, "Get a good view from the front."

"And could you buy me some of those Muggle Hula-Hoop crisps?" Fabian asked.

Frank rolled his eyes, but gave a smile.

"I'll see what I can do."

He shut the door quietly and, shoving his hands in his pockets, walked away from the car. His team watched him go and then the three remaining heads turned to look at the house.

It was a house. Amelia had made that observation several times in the last half-hour. She had done so because it seemed as if that was the only thing that could be ascertained from staring at it from a parked car. Nothing had visibly changed about the structure since Frank had left; the curtains were still pulled and there appeared to be no movement behind them. Not a soul had entered the building, hardly anyone even walking about on the street. It was quiet and stagnant and everyone, even the work orientated Gideon, was getting bored. Fabian had leaned back in the passenger seat next to Amelia. He had spent a while scribbling in his little note book but that too had become tiresome for him; one of the first things Amelia had learnt about her partner in Auror training was that he didn't like to sit still for too long.

"How long do we have to be here for?" he asked, clearly trying to keep the moan out of his voice.

Amelia checked her watch.

"When Frank gets back we'll go," she replied, "I'll see if there's anyone that needs to work overtime who can take this job."

Ten minutes later, Frank returned. He had circled around the block, past 146 and then slipped into the backseat.

"Nothing," he said with a shrug, "It's pretty much the same closer up."

Then he reached into his jacket and pulled out a packet of crisps, hurling them at Fabian, who grabbed them, looking excited. Fabian turned them around in his hands, frowned and then looked incredulously at Frank.

"Salt and Vinegar?" he said with a tone of disgust, "_Salt and Vinegar! _What were you thinking, man?"

"Fine," Frank said, trying to snatch them back, "I'll have them, you ungrateful so and so."

"No, no," Fabian said, "I've got them now, I might as well eat them."

"You're a martyr," Frank said, grinning.

"Just trying to make this world a better place," Fabian grinned back.

He pulled the packet open and offered it to Amelia, who just sighed and started the car.

As soon as they arrived back at the Ministry, Dolores popped up and handed her friend a stack of papers, clipped together. Amelia flicked over them while the secretary recounted all she had done in their absence.

"I wrote to Jim at the Met and he managed to get hold of these documents," she told her colleague, "The house has been owned for sixteen years by a Mr and Mrs Havisham. Both Muggles, with no magical relatives or connections as far as anyone is aware. But I did some digging and apparently Mr Havisham quit his job about a month ago, quite suddenly, and no one has seen him around since."

Amelia raised her eyebrows.

"Curious."

"Extremely!" Dolores agreed, "And there were whispers of some men turning up in the middle of the night, just before that. But the stories are all pretty shaky and nothing's been reported since then."

"What about the house itself?" Amelia asked, replacing the papers on the desk, "Does it have a history?"

"Not a recent one," Dolores said, "In the late eighteen hundreds, a Muggle family was killed there; mother, father, kids, even the servants. It was dreadful and the Muggle authorities couldn't work out how it was done, because there were no signs of injury or illness. Of course, local wizards attributed it to one of their own. Caused quite a stir at the time, apparently."

"But apart from that," Amelia sighed, "it's clean. Thanks, Jane."

Rowan's views on Amelia's eating habits were quickly becoming justified as the group ordered in Chinese food for dinner (with Dolores, true to form, choosing a salad instead). The girl herself had left just as they sat down to eat. Alice Longbottom had somehow found time to take her on a tour of the Ministry and, although she had enjoyed herself immensely, Rowan felt it was time to go.

"Now, if you need anything or find anything out," Amelia said seriously, "just send me an owl or-"

"Break into your flat at three in the morning," Rowan smiled, "Don't worry, I know how to get there."

"Be safe," Amelia said, the concern in her voice obvious.

"I will," the girl replied, "Thank you, all of you, for everything."

"I rather like that kid," Fabian said, as they watched her walk out, "I feel we should adopt her as a team mascot."

"We've already got a monkey," Amelia said, giving a firm wave as Rowan stepped onto the lift.

"Do we?" Fabian said in surprise.

"Yes. It's you."


	16. Chapter 16: Half Truths , Almost Honesty

Author's Note: I just realized I had this chapter floating around, so here you go :)

**Chapter 16: Half Truths and Almost Honesty**

Amelia was trying to put the case to the back of her mind as she ate. But the Chinese food kept reminding her of the menu in the alley, which in turn reminded her of the colossal effort they still had in front of them. What did they really know? The answer was not one Amelia liked to admit to herself. They were grabbing at threads, although, she supposed, at least there were some threads now. She sighed and poked at a dumpling.

"Just eat it, Bones," Fabian said, "Before somebody else does."

And he picked up the dumpling with his chopsticks and ate it.

"I was talking about me," he said, "if you didn't get that."

Amelia smiled.

"Yeah, I'd picked that one up."

Fabian frowned and picked up a mouthful of noodles, chewing with a pensive look on his face. Amelia put her chopsticks down; she wasn't feeling very hungry anymore.

"Amelia, we've got a problem."

Dolores had finished her dinner earlier and gone in search of somebody to take over the watch. She must of gone around the entire office because she disappeared for quite some time and the look she wore when she returned was less than promising.

"There is nobody available to take the night shift," she went on, slumping down in her chair with a sigh, "literally nobody. I tried, I'm sorry."

"Right," Amelia groaned, getting to her feet, "that means we're going to have to do it. Who's in?"

"Can't!" all three of the men before her said at once.

Amelia raised her eyebrows in surprise.

"Everybody's got plans?" she said incredulously, "Even _Gideon_?"

The aforementioned Auror looked at his feet, blushing a little. After a minute of intense stares from everyone, he finally broke down.

"Dolores and I were planning to spend some time together this evening," he admitted, "We haven't been able to recently, with both of us staying so late at work."

Amelia couldn't help but melt.

"You're too, too adorable," she said, "Exempt! Frank?"

"I was, ah," he hesitated, "planning to spend some time with my darling wife."

"He lies!" Alice Longbottom's voice piped up from a cubicle near by, "He just can't be bothered!"

"Thanks awfully for backing me up, Dearest," Frank yelled.

"Anytime, Darling," she called back.

"You should do it, Bones," Fabian suggested, giving his most charming smile, "You know, the boss lady, setting a good example for the troupes."

Amelia didn't even try to argue; to be perfectly honest, she'd expected she'd have to do the job anyway.

"Fine," she said, "I was just planning to catch up on weeks of sleep anyway."

"No, no, no!"

Dolores jumped up, a look of concern on her face.

"You can't go out on your own," she said, "in the middle of the night!"

Amelia wanted to remind her about what she did for a living, but she didn't. No, this was a good opportunity to spoil someone else's evening.

"Fabian," she said, "thanks for volunteering."

He didn't move, he just stared at her.

"Only if I get to drive," he said, crossing his arms and legs.

Now Amelia just stared. She motioned for him to follow her, but Fabian refused to get out of his chair. He just swiveled around in a childish manner. Amelia rolled her eyes.

"Lord forgive us the things that we do," she muttered, "Alright, you can drive."

Fabian jumped up with a 'Yes' and bounded off towards the lift.

Ten minutes later the pair were driving back to 146 Hardgrave Street. Fabian had selected, like a kid in sweetshop, a black BMW and he now sat in the driver's seat, relaxing against the leather interior. Amelia was surprised to find that the car was just as relaxed as he was, the engine practically purring as they glided through the now dark streets of London. He handled the machine with such ease, his hands resting lightly on the steering wheel, his fingers only having to move slightly for the vehicle to respond. On his face he wore an expression of complete contentment, his chest moving up and down evenly, his eyes not moving from the road. Amelia pulled her gaze away from him, smiling.

"What is it, Bones?" Fabian grinned, catching her smile in the corner of his vision.

"Nothing," Amelia said, turning her head towards the window, "I just didn't expect you to be this, well, skilled. Or this happy."

"Muggles have learnt how make perfection in car form, Bones," Fabain said, "I've always said that."

"Makes me wonder way the transport department is so reluctant to lend you anything?" Amelia asked, a teasing note in her voice.

"In my defense," Fabian protested, "Frank was driving. And how were we supposed to know that the jetty couldn't withstand the weight of an armoured truck?"

"On second thoughts," Amelia said with a laugh, "maybe I'm not so curious."

She let her head fall back against the headrest, expelling her breath with a sigh. Then she reached into her jacket and fished out a cigarette. Fabian's hands tightened around the wheel.

"Do you have to do that in here?" he asked.

Amelia pursed her lips and jerked her head a little, but put it back in her pockets. She left her hands there and shifted in her seat.

"What's up with you, Bones?" Fabian said, bringing the car to a stop, "Something's wrong. We've ascertained it's not my driving and you've gone much longer without needing to poison your lungs, so what's the problem?"

"Nothing's the problem!" Amelia insisted, "Keep driving!"

Fabian looked at her.

"We've arrived."

And they had. 146 Hardgrave Street was right in front of them and she hadn't even noticed. Amelia gave another sigh. Fabian was right; there was something on her mind. She had been thinking about the job offer all day, wondering what the right decision was. People would kill for that position, she knew it, kill to just have to opportunity to be considered for the job. Head of the Auror Office was a stepping stone for Head of Magical Law Enforcement, maybe even for the Minister for Magic. All logic was telling her to say yes. But she didn't want to. She didn't know why. What she did know was the last thing she wanted to do was talk to Fabian about it. But he was going to find out sooner or later, regardless of what she decided to do.

"I've got the job," Amelia whispered, "Head of the Office."

"Well, that's great!" Fabian gushed, "Congratulations! When do you start?"

"I haven't actually accepted yet," Amelia admitted, "But it's there, if I want it."

"Are you kidding?" Fabian exclaimed, "Of course you have to take it!"

"Really?" Amelia asked, her voice hopeful, though in a way it probably shouldn't have been.

"Yeah," Fabian said, "It's a great opportunity. And you'd be perfect at it, probably the best anyone's ever seen."

Amelia nodded, not as an agreement, just to show she was taking on board what he had to say. Her face formed an involuntary frown and she spoke without thinking.

"You want me to go?"

Fabian twisted in his seat, so his body was, to the best of his ability, facing hers.

"You're ridiculous," he breathed, "for thinking I would ever want that."

Amelia bit her lip, feeling sheepish.

"I know," she said quietly, "I know."

Fabian's face softened.

"Are you waiting for someone to beg you to stay?"

"No, of course not," Amelia scoffed.

It wasn't a convincing tone that she used. And that was because she was lying; the whole time she'd been worried that no one would even realise she had gone, that they'd want her to leave, that they'd soon realise they'd be better off without her. Deep down, really deep down, Amelia Bones was a sentimentalist and a romantic. She wanted to think that she'd be missed if she left. Fabian gently placed his hand on her knee and Amelia felt herself tense as he did so.

"If I was selfish then I would definitely beg you to stay," he said, "I really would, Amelia. I would get down on my knees and I would plead with you, I would probably cry if I had too. You're my partner and I've gotten used to having you around. I like having you around."

Amelia was blushing, heat stinging her cheeks, and she hoped, in the dimness, it couldn't be seen. Fabian took his hand back and folded his arms, turning back to stare straight ahead.

"But I'm not that selfish," he continued, his voice much lower, "This isn't about me. This is about you and what is best for you. Right now, Auror Unit B might seem safe and familiar, and you might be comfortable and happy with that, but tens years on, if you don't take the job, you'll be kicking yourself. And probably me too."

"Why do you care so much?" Amelia asked her partner, somewhat naively.

Fabian looked uncomfortable, clearing his throat a few times before answering.

"You're like family to me, Bones. And caring, so I'm told, is what families do."

He looked out through the windscreen, his bright blue eyes somewhere else. Nothing stirred outside the car and, for a moment, the inside mirrored this, both wizard and witch saying and doing nothing. Occasionally the wizard would appear to go to say something, but he stopped himself. It was cold, Amelia noticed all of a sudden. She shivered and pulled her jacket tighter around herself. Fabian must have noticed because he took his coat off and draped it over her like a blanket. She tried to refuse, tried to give it back, but Fabian wouldn't take it. In the end, she gave in and curled her legs up on her seat, spreading the coat over them. It smelt like Fabian, like his cologne and other warm and comforting things. Hers, she reflected sadly, smelt like ash.

"We'll talk about it when the case is over," Fabian said quietly.

And they both settled down to keep watch.


	17. Chapter 17: The Morning After

**Chapter 17: The Morning After**

Amelia slowly opened one eye, the world materializing in front of her. It wasn't cold, but her entire body felt stiff and frozen. With a small yawn, she pulled the blanket closer to her chin, the scent of cologne wafting to greet her. _Cologne? _Amelia sat bolt upright, almost whacking her head of the ceiling of the car. Because she was in a car, not in a bedroom as she had, to her horror, momentarily thought. The blanket was actually a coat, one that she recognized as Fabian Prewett's. She lifted her head and before her loomed a great red-brick building; 146 Hardgrave Street. It all came back to her.

"We were keeping watch," she whispered, to herself as Fabian was no where to be seen, "Just keeping watch."

She must have fallen asleep, though she couldn't remember at what point exactly. The sky was a golden colour, the day just beginning. Amelia stretched and then looked around for Fabian, but he wasn't anywhere on the street. Overcome with morning grogginess, she pushed open the car door and swung both her feet around, placing them down on the footpath. There was a slight breeze and the early air was fresh, but the day promised to be nice. Reaching into her pockets, she found a cigarette and lit it.

"D'you want some caffeine with that nicotine?" Fabian's voice came from beside her.

He was carrying two large take-away coffee cups, one of which he handed to Amelia. She took it, but didn't take her eyes off him.

"You let me fall asleep?" she asked bluntly.

Fabian sighed and leant against the car.

"Gee, thanks for the coffee, Fabian," he said in a mocking voice, taking a sip of his drink, "it was really nice of you to think of me."

Amelia didn't laugh.

"You fell asleep of your own accord," Fabian said after awhile, "I just made the decision not wake you up."

"That's not your decision to make," Amelia said, throwing her cigarette on the ground and stamping it out, "It's my job, I can't fall asleep. I'm supposed to be keeping watch!"

"_We're _keeping watch," Fabian reminded her, his voice a little angry, "and I did. All night."

Amelia softened a bit. It was nice of him to let her sleep. She had a drink from her coffee cup; black, no sugar, exactly how she liked it. Had she mentioned it to Fabian before and he had remembered? Or was it something he'd picked up on his own? Either way, the drink was perfect and it made her feel extremely guilty for snapping at him.

"Did you see anything?" she said quietly, "On your watch?"

"Nope," Fabian said with a yawn, lifting his arms up above his head, "Unless you count the Shopping Channel, playing on the neighbour's television. A full set of kitchen knives for only seventy-five pounds."

"Really? And here I was thinking last night had been a complete waste of time," Amelia said sarcastically, "This isn't going to work. We need to get back to the office and do some serious strategizing."

"Can I drive?"

"Be my guest."

Frank and Dolores were already there when the pair arrived at the office. Gideon was around somewhere, they were told, and Alice had come visiting from her own work space. She sat, conversing with her husband and the secretary, on the edge of a desk. Her head turned as Amelia and Fabian walked in.

"Good God, Sweetheart," she said to her friend, "Whatever the amount of coffee you've drunk this morning, it hasn't been enough."

"I look that bad?" Amelia asked with a sigh, running her fingers through her hair.

"You've looked better," Dolores said, "Let's just say that."

"I was on a stake out all night," Amelia said flatly, "I'm sorry the beauty parlour doesn't open at 5a.m!"

"Apology accepted," Alice smiled, "Have you had breakfast?"

"I'm fine."

"A cigarette and an oversized coffee doesn't constitute a balanced meal," Dolores said knowingly, "Can I get you some toast?"

"No," Amelia said firmly, "I want to discuss a plan of action. The date for recruitment might have passed for all we know, in which case we're wasting our time and resources. There's no way we can keep watching that house night after night on the odd chance something will happen!"

"You didn't enjoy our little sleepover then?" Fabian said, pretending to be affronted.

At this remark, Dolores gave a small gasp and Alice's eyebrows went up. They both shot Amelia significant looks, to which, when she realized what they were insinuating, she mouthed "NO" and profusely shook her head. Fabian just grinned.

"Now there's a thought," he mused, knowing his tone would further infuriate his partner.

"What's a thought?" Frank asked, confused.

"Nothing's a thought!" Amelia said quickly, "Fabian, go and find your brother. Frank, go with him."

"Why?" Frank was still confused.

"Because I said so," Amelia snapped.

The two men went off in search of the third, Amelia watching them as they walked away. Then she spun around to face her friends, who now stood side by side, their arms folded, smirks on their faces.

"He didn't mean it like that," Amelia explained slowly, "He really didn't. He really, _really _didn't."

"Why so defensive, Bones?" Alice teased, "Secretly sleeping with a co-worker?"

"No!" Amelia protested in a scandalized whisper, looking around to check that no one was listening to this humiliating conversation.

"I don't believe her," Alice said to Dolores.

"Nor do I," Dolores said, "She smells like cologne."

"Oh," Alice gasped, her eyes wide, "she does!"

"Nothing happened," Amelia said, "I swear to God."

"Seriously?" Alice said, "You are seriously telling me that you, Amelia Bones, spent the entirety of last night in a confined space with him, Fabian Prewett, and nothing even remotely interesting happened?"

"Of course!"

"You are so disappointing," Alice moaned.

"We're just friends," Amelia said.

"That's what they all say," Alice said in a hushed voice, "And then someone ends up pregnant!"

"Who's pregnant?" Fabian asked, coming up behind the group of witches.

"Nobody!" Amelia said with an exasperated sigh.

"Are you pregnant?" Frank exclaimed in surprise as he sat down.

"_No, I am not!_" Amelia cried, throwing her head back in anguish, "I am not, nor will I be in the near future, pregnant. It is not physically possible for me to be so, nor will it be in the near future, because nothing, _nothing_, happened and nor will it. Do I make myself clear?"

"You're killing me, Amelia," Alice said with a sigh, "but fine."

"I'm still confused," Frank said, "Is anyone else confused?"

"Now," Amelia went on, completely ignoring Frank, "I would like somebody to bring the board over here, someone else to get enough chairs for everyone and, Jane, if that offer for toast is still going, then I would actually really like some."

She watched as everyone got about doing their jobs. They were all friends, but sometimes she needed to remind them who was in charge. Although, with some people, namely Fabian, it didn't work; he was standing next to her, looking like he was about to burst with laughter. Without turning to face him, Amelia aimed an elbow at his stomach.

"Hey!" he cried, bending over in pain, "I didn't say anything!"

"Oh, like Hell," Amelia hissed, "'_Now there's a thought_' Why would you say _that _of all things?"

"I was just playing along with their game," Fabian said, "Why so defensive, Bones?"

She elbowed him again.

"Shut up."


	18. Chapter 18: The Plan

**Chapter 18: The Plan**

"Right," Amelia said, when everyone had finally settled back down back around the board, "What we need is a plan."

"Great," Fabian muttered, "_That_ should be simple."

"What's the plan for exactly?" Dolores asked, placing a plate of stacked, buttered toast down on the desk.

Amelia groaned and grabbed a slice, biting down on it aggressively; it was still early.

"We have to find out more about the organization behind these murders," she said between mouthfuls, "If the recruiting sessions have already been, then we're probably never going to find the people that did it. We've already seen how fast Demming took off when he knew we were on to him. But if the date hasn't passed yet, then we can need to be there, on that day, ready to take these sons-of-bitches down."

"And you know how to do this?" Frank questioned.

"Despite the time, luckily for you," Amelia said, "I have thought about it and I've got an idea."

"That's why we keep you around," Fabian smiled.

"And why I'm the leader and why I get better health insurance," Amelia nodded.

And she explained her plan. The centre for the entire operation was The Hangman's Noose, so their best chance was to head back there. If Darius was still giving out invitations, then all they had to do was pick one up. They would send somebody in there, undercover, and that's how'd they discover the recruitment dates. When Amelia had finished speaking, she was left looking at the incredulous faces of her colleagues.

"That's your brilliant plan?" Fabian said, "How is your health insurance any better than mine?"

"It's still in the development stages," Amelia snapped defensively, "And I don't see you contributing anything from your pool of greatness."

"My only concern is if the time has passed," Gideon said seriously, "then going in there and asking questions could put us at risk."

"And, in your blind need for action," Fabian added, in a somewhat disparaging tone, "you've forgotten one thing. Demming knows what we all look like. If one of us walks in, he's gonna notice."

"Does 'undercover' mean nothing to you people?" Amelia said, "We're not just gonna waltz in there wearing Ministry robes."

Fabian gave a slight cough and she threw a piece of toast at him.

"Anybody else got something to contribute then?" she glared.

"I'm in," Alice said quietly.

Everybody turned to look at her.

"Nice try," Frank said, "but you're not in this unit."

"That's why it's so perfect," Alice explained, "My own unit doesn't need me right now, so I'm free. This Demming hasn't seen me before, so he won't know who I am."

"Oh no," Frank shook his head, "You are not going in there by yourself."

"Obviously you'll have some way of communicating with me," Alice said with an exasperated sigh, "But sending me alone is your best bet. I'm trained, I'm smart (not to mention modest) and you won't have to worry about dealing with appearance charms or potions."

"It does take an awfully long time to apply for Polyjuice Potion," Dolores admitted.

Frank looked around incredulously.

"Does no one else think this is a bad idea?" he said.

He got no answers. Fabian just shrugged, as if to say "sorry, mate, but you're on your own." Amelia crossed her arms. She could understand why Frank would want to keep his wife out of something so dangerous, but Alice was more than capable of taking care of herself.

"Well, I won't allow it!" Frank said, sounding ridiculously juvenile.

Alice turned on him, her green eyes flashing.

"I don't need to seek your approval, Frank Longbottom," she said, putting her hands on her hips, "I will make my owns choices in the manner that I see fit. And currently I see a need that I can meet, so I'm going to do it."

She turned back to Amelia, looking triumphant as Frank sank back moodily into his chair. Amelia cleared her throat.

"Well I guess that's sorted," she said, "Thank you, Alice. We're going to need details people, so I want everything we currently have on anything that remotely links to this case. We don't want to send a man in underprepared."

As everyone was getting up and going into action, Amelia went over to Frank. He was sitting, frowning at the floor.

"She's a talented witch," Amelia commented, making Frank jump out of his thoughts.

"I know, I know," Frank admitted, "Alice is brilliant."

His tone was so genuine that his leader couldn't help feeling for him.

"I know what I've suggested sounds a little slapdash," she whispered, "but I can promise you now that your wife is not even leaving this building until we have planned for all foreseeable eventualities. If I am not satisfied that we will be able to bring her out, she's not going in."

Frank nodded his understanding and stood up. Amelia watched him walk towards his work station, before he was intercepted by Alice who, standing on her tiptoes, wrapped her arms around his neck and gave him a loving hug. Amelia smiled and then went on to her own work.

The plan that Auror Unit B eventually decided on was not dissimilar to the one Amelia had originally suggested, it merely had some of the blanks filled in. The person they needed to talk to was, from the information Rowan had given them, Darius Finch. The place to find him, without it looking strange, was The Hangman's Noose. The best time would be in the early evening, about the time that Finch's girls started their services. They would send Alice in each evening for a few days, having her make hints and try to establish contact. If she could get close enough to Finch, she could express her interest about joining the Death Eaters and that would hopefully tell them where they stood.

Amelia spent the next few days schooling Alice on every detail of the case so far, helping her to figure out the right kind of questions to ask. However, as they planned and formulated, she was painfully aware that every second they spent in the office was another second their enemy had to carry out their own plans, pack up and then ride off into the sunset. On the day they began the mission, something Fabian had labelled "Codename: No Chance in Hell", all team members arrived to work extremely early, so much so that the Atrium was all but empty when Amelia arrived. As her shoes clicked across the floor, the sound was joined by that of Dolores and Gideon, the first giving Amelia an encouraging smile, the latter wearing an expression that was solemn even by his standards. Fabian was already leaning against his desk and he raised a hand to welcome his partner, his expression also a serious one, just going to show what a risk they were taking. Frank was sitting in his seat, staring at the wall, his hands clasped tightly together.

"Alice is getting ready," Fabian whispered to Amelia as she walked up beside him, "He's been like that since they arrived."

"Have you talked to him?" Amelia asked.

"Of course," Fabian exclaimed, "I asked him if he caught the game last night."

"Of course," Amelia rolled her eyes, "Trust you to think of Quidditch in a time of peril."

"And I told him that we would do everything in our power to keep her safe," Fabian added, "but I'm not sure he was listening."

"No," Amelia sighed, "Although I can't say I blame him."

She watched her team member in his silent staring ritual and she shivered; what were they about to do?


End file.
